


Superman and the Wrath of Zod

by SymphonyWizard



Series: Of Intrepid Reporters and Awkward Farmboys [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman Beyond, Smallville, Smallville Season 11 (Comics), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonyWizard/pseuds/SymphonyWizard
Summary: This is a sequel to both "Of Intrepid Reporters and Awkward Farmboys" as well as the "Sullivan-Queen Diaries".In "Dominion", Zod swore he would have his revenge.  In this, by some miracle, Zod is released from the Phantom Zone.  On Earth, Clark Kent has retired from his duties as Superman to the peace of the Kent Farm with his wife and children (both biological and adopted) but a disaster calls him back into action.  Meanwhile his children try to hide who they are as they begin high school at Smallville High and keep in touch with their elder half-brother who is in Star City with his wife and infant child.  Johnny, with the help of his best friend, Tess Mercer try to mold his late father's company into something of their own.  Finally, Clark and Chloe try to deal with the hardships of parenthood while balancing their callings as heroes.Updates might be slow at some points, but I'll post when I can.Also, for those who haven't read any of my previous stories the "Thea Queen" in this isn't so much the Thea from Arrow so much as it is a daughter shared between Chloe and Oliver.Please enjoy.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Fallen_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fallen_Sky/gifts), [hughie87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hughie87/gifts), [lunarknightz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarknightz/gifts).



It is another day.  It is another day in a wasteland with no days and no nights.  He isn’t even sure if “days” were an applicable term.  How could it be applied in a place where blue suns in their unforgiving brightness sat unmoving and unsetting?  In that regard, time is a meaningless concept applied only by the desperate fools who actually try to count the days, as if forever clinging to a false hope of freedom that would never come. 

Even he had fallen victim to that stupid hope.  Not for hope of salvation, but something else.  He longed for retribution.  The salvation he once sought was taken from him, ripped from him a…boy who longed to live up to the image of a man he once called friend.   Strangely, he almost pitied the boy.  The only entity he had for a father was a disembodied voice that was little more than an echo of the man it once belonged to. 

Would that boy have placed such reverence in the man if he knew his father like Zod did? 

Zod. 

There was one thing that he tried to cling onto in every passing moment in this wasteland.  Still, some days it felt more and more like a memory soured by failure and the eternal damnation that was this Phantom Zone.  Here his company was only the phantoms who were best to be avoided at all costs.  Here, he has tried to fill the void of emptiness by making himself a ruler of sorts over the other unfortunate fools who were stuck here with him.

Each passing day, the kneeling, the worshipping, the more or less loyalty bought by fear of death began to add to the harsh monotone that was this colorless…godforsaken as humans would put it…place. 

The days he counted so far—or at least the number of times he has fallen into a slumber full of unforgiving dreams of what could have been, or of that retribution that he feels he had begun to accept would never come to pass—added up to about thirty-six Earth-years. 

In that time, Zod managed to survive.  He survived the phantoms.  He bested the usurpers who wanted to claim his throne of nothing in combat.  He created a sense of order in a place where order, infrastructure, and government were fiction.  Those who defied him were fed to the phantoms who wandered aimlessly through the seemingly vast expanse of the zone.

And for what--just more endless days in a place where time stood still?  In a place where any reasonable person would have killed himself long ago? 

Zod waits.  He waits for a chance that he understands might never come.  A chance to make Kal-El, or Clark Kent, the Blur, or whatever he’s calling himself these days pay for that which he denied him.  For banishing him to this hell.  The thoughts of choking the life out of him, stabbing him repeatedly in the heart and even licking the blood off the blade plays beautifully in his mind.  Some days, he entertains himself by imagining all the ways that he could make the son of Jor-El suffer. 

If he has a family, he could make him watch as he beheaded them.  He could make them disappear out from under Kal-El’s nose and cut them until they bled all the pathetic essence out their bodies.  Then he could feed their hearts to Kal-El, or force-feed them to him.  He could even make him watch as he cooked their hearts on one of those things humans used outdoors.  Zod thought he remembered them being called “grills”…yes, grills.  He could make Kal-El watch as they burned like all those humans burned for the superstitions and religious stupidity of other humans. 

Yes, so many glorious ways he could make the son of a man he once called friend suffer.

“But will such an opportunity ever come?” Zod asks himself out loud with almost every waking hour.   Perhaps it would as that very day, something extraordinary happened.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a portal opened up in the middle of one of the fields.  The day began like any other day and he was pacing, something he found to be quite relaxing and there was a loud bang.  He had gone outside to see a beam of light that quickly revealed itself to be a portal.  In the harsh light, he thought he recognized a symbol—a downward triangle with rounded red lights at each point that burned bright like a jewel. 

“General Zod, what is it?” asks one of his subjects. 

Zod smiles as he claps the man on the shoulder.  “That, my friend, is our salvation.”  And if it leads him to right place, there was a long overdue visit he owed to the last son of the House of El.  


	2. Chapter One

Chloe awakens to the sound of her alarm clock buzzing.  With a groan, she reaches over and turns it off.  Once that is taken care of, she returns that arm to the vast expanse of her husband.

"Morning, gorgeous," he mumbles tiredly.  

"It's not morning yet," Chloe protests stubbornly.  She scooches over on the bed and rests her head on her husband's chest.  She revels in the steady rise and fall of his breathing.  Some days, the steady sound and feel of his heartbeat both arouses and soothes her.  This time it’s just the latter and it sings her back to sleep like a lullaby.  

Before she can drift off however, a loud incessant knocking comes at the door, jolting her wide awake.  She and her husband sit up way too fast and, she doesn't know about him, but the reflex leaves her a little dizzy in the head.  

"Who is it?" she asks groggily as she rubs her eyes.  She's really going to welcome that cup of coffee when it comes.  

"It's me!" squeals an excited voice from the other side of the door.  "May I come in, please, please,  _please_?"  "Me" is their five-year-old son Ryan Sullivan Kent.  Chloe remembers discussing names with her husband.  She already has a son named Jonathan and their daughter, Martha's, middle name is Gabriella so they had to think about it, and there was no way in hell that she was going to name her son "Jordan" after Jor-El.  Eventually, they cooked up the name  Ryan in honor of Clark's childhood friend.  One of the people that inspired him to be a hero.  

Chloe exchanges a look with her husband just as he asks the boy on the other side of the door to keep his voice down.  He knows as well as she does that the boy is just going to keep knocking and begging.  Worst case scenario, he accidentally breaks the door with his knocking.  With a sigh, Clark says, "Alright, squirt, you can come in."

"Yippee!" comes that squeal again as the door flies open.  In comes a little blonde terror as he jumps onto the bed.  When comparing the boy to photos of Clark from some of the Kents' old photo albums, he looks just like a five-year-old Clark Kent with blonde hair and blue eyes.  Given the mix of genes, Chloe wonders if he'll meet Clark's height when he hit puberty or if he'll be a little shorter.  Or even taller.  Only time will tell.

"Time for school, time for school!" he chants excitedly as he tries to coax his parents out of bed.  At least somebody is excited about starting school.  Recently, Chloe and her husband, along with their older children, made a bet as to how long it would be before little Ryan's enthusiasm and excitement turned into the resentment that tends to befall children when it comes to school.  Their daughter, Moira offered the shortest time which was before he even reached the first grade.

Only time will tell before little Ryan starts complaining about homework, or the teachers, or just having to get up early to get ready for school, and the highlight of at least his kindergarten and elementary years will be recess.  

In regards to the bet, they never actually got into discussing what the winner would receive.  That could wait for another conversation.

"Okay, okay, settle down Ryan," laughs Clark, seating the five-year-old in his lap.

At least he is wide awake.  Now Chloe is wondering if the rest of her children are up and about.  She hopes so as they have morning chores to do around the farm.  Sometimes she misses Johnny--who is currently in Star City with his wife, Aimee--being young enough for her to dictate when he woke up and went to bed.  Little Ryan needed very little convincing to get out of bed.  Cynically, Chloe feels that at some point as the boy got older that that would change.

"Are you ready for your first day of kindergarten?" she asks her youngest child.  

Ryan nods so vigorously that she worries he'll give himself whiplash.  Can he even get whiplash being half-Kryptonian?  She already knows that her children that she's shared with Clark don't get sick and apparently seem immune to most blunt trauma, but what about injuries like whiplash?  "Yes, Mommy!" he replies.  

"Do you have all the things you need gathered up?" asks Clark.

"All in my backpack, Daddy," their son replies proudly.  

"Good for you," praises Clark, squeezing their son's shoulder affectionately.  "Say, since it is your first day of school, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Mac n' cheese!" answers Ryan almost immediately.  Clark shares a look with his wife.  She can read him like a news article and she doesn't have to voice it.  Did he really need to ask?  The boy is obsessed with mac n' cheese!  So obsessed in fact that sometimes he threw a tantrum when Clark, or whoever was making dinner, had something different planned.  At least mac n' cheese is one of the few things that Chloe could make without burning it.  Either way, given how many times they have had to avoid Ryan's sometimes destructive tantrums--which she and Clark have been working tirelessly to bring to a stop--Chloe and their daughters have grown to hate the stuff.  Their daughter Moira hates cheese altogether.  

Clark sighs.  "Alright mac n' cheese it is, but first, you are going to go take a bath.  And don't roll your eyes at me."

Ryan noticeably suppresses his eye-rolling as he gets up and leaves the bedroom.  It was about six months ago that Ryan started wanting to bathe unassisted.  At least Chloe was able to get him to shower without spending more than five or ten minutes in the bathroom or using up the hot water.  When Clark renovated and expanded the house, he added another full bathroom and one half-bath.  At least there doesn't have to be a considerable wait to use the bathroom.  On a naughtier note, she sure wouldn't mind sharing a shower or a bath with her husband.  Sadly, having three teenagers in the house and one five-year-old severely limited her opportunities to indulge in her husband without clothes on.  It certainly doesn't help that one of her daughters has super hearing

Chloe exchanges a look with her husband.  

"Let's go see if anybody else is up and about," Clark suggests.  "And maybe we should put some coffee  _and pancakes_ in you."  

Chloe rolls her eyes.  Even after fifteen years of marriage he's still stressing the importance of living off of more than just coffee.  

Her husband catches the eye-rolling and crosses his arms.  "Well aren't you just a bad influence," he teases.

She throws a pillow at him and they both start laughing.  

 

*******

She doesn’t look up from her copy of _Edgar Allen Poe:  Complete Poems and Short Stories_ , to know that dawn is breaking across the horizon.  The window of the loft doesn’t face the sunrise, but on a good day, the morning sunlight blankets the field with an orange glow that sometimes reflects quite nicely on the shroud of mist that veils the crops.  Sometimes, she let herself be distracted from her reading long enough to tune her enhanced hearing to the otherwise quiet rustle of the crops as the wind touches them with its gentle caress. 

Superhearing or not, one doesn’t need to be able to hear something a mile away to hear the sound of someone approaching the loft. 

“‘ _…From the torrent, or the fountain,_

_From the red cliff of the mountain,_

_From the sun that ‘round me roll’d_

_In its autumn tint of gold—_

_From the lightning in the sky_

_As it pass’d me flying by—_

_From the thunder and the storm,_

_And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of a demon in my view’”_

She recites.

“What was that, _The Raven_?” asks Marty, sounding devoid of interest.

“You know, as shocking as it sounds, there are more poems to Edgar’s name than the just _The Raven_ ,” Moira informs her twin patiently as she closes the book.  “That was _Alone_.” 

Marty huffs.  “Sounds about as whiny as the rest of the poetry you like to recite out loud,” she drawls.

Moira smiles up at her sister.   “And that is why I tend to use smaller words in your direction.”

Everyone tells them that they look exactly alike, but ask them to make a list of their differences and they could offer a very long list of them.  They both have their father’s complexion as well as his raven hair and they have their mother’s nose and many tell them that they have their mother’s smile, but that’s about where their similarities come to an end.  Physically speaking, they seem to have a similar bust to their mother (which Marty complains about sometimes), however, the shape of their eyes differ.  Moira’s eyes are more like their father’s and Marty’s is more like their mother’s. 

Also, it shouldn’t take someone more than five minutes to realize that they do not have common interests.  Moira sometimes pities her sister for not having any taste in poetry—or any literature for that matter other than what happens to be in the next gossip tabloid or the newspaper.   Moira has overheard people say that it seems strange coming from the child of Chloe Kent.  Well, children are not always carbon copies of their parents are they?

Marty scowls and Moira’s smile widens.  Moira doesn’t know about her, but she sure hopes that she gets their Dad’s heat vision.  Marty could use a good roasting one of these days.

“Moira, Marty, you two up here?” comes a voice from below. 

The twins immediately break their glaring contest and straighten themselves up as their eighteen-year-old sister comes up the steps.  Well, technically half-sister but they love her to death all the same.  Thea Kent really looked like her biological father, the late Oliver Queen’s, daughter with her high cheekbones, blonde hair, and brown eyes.  Moira doesn’t know about Marty, but she knew she was guilty for not considering her a full family member at one point in her life.  It took her a long time to forgive herself for that. 

“Hey, Thea,” Moira greets.  “Did Mom or Dad ask you to come get us?”

Thea shrugs.  “No, but I did come to tell you both that breakfast is ready.”

“Let me guess, mac and cheese?” asks Marty dispassionately.

The three girls share a grimace.  The sooner their little brother outgrew his mac and cheese obsession the better. 

“For Ryan, yeah, but I made everyone blueberry pancakes,” Thea says with a tempting smile. 

Moira shares a look with her twin.  They can’t say no to their sister’s pancakes.  Thea graduated in May and she wanted to take her sisters to school.  It’s going to be hard goodbye when she heads off for Star City University.  Not to mention how unfair it is that she gets to spend more time with their elder brother, Johnny.

They figured they should enjoy each other’s company as much as they can before it’s time to leave.

“We might as well start high school with a nicer breakfast than what our little brother has in mind,” Marty offers reasonably. 

Moira rolls her eyes as a genuine smile broke through her reticent features.  “Let’s go inside and eat.”  Marty and Thea leave the loft with bright grins on their faces and Moira soon follows.


	3. Chapter Two

It’s quite refreshing that almost everyone in the Kent house—other than the matriarch, Chloe Sullivan-Kent—can cook more than one or two things.  While their mother made mac and cheese that morning, little Ryan was basically hopping all over the place.  Not just due to his excitement for a bowl of that disgusting stuff, but also because he was excited to be starting kindergarten. 

Feeling nostalgic, Moira wondered if she was that excited when she and Marty had started kindergarten. By that time, they could already lift the tractor or one of the pickup trucks fully loaded over their heads, Marty could run as fast as a bullet and Moira could hear things a mile away.  Moira does remember with painful clarity Marty teasing her for not being able to run as fast as her.  She could run faster than a typical human being, but she definitely could not keep up with a bullet.

As for the saying that girls mature faster than boys, Moira often wonders if the same applies for Kryptonian—or even half-Kryptonian—girls.  Right now all Ryan has shown is super-strength. 

By the time they sat down for breakfast, Ryan was already delving into his and pouring copious amounts of ketchup onto his mac and cheese. 

Moira had to hide her disgust as her brother displayed his table manners—or lack thereof.  How can anyone like cheese?  Most cheeses, like American cheese and cheddar just taste like cardboard and it just creates a horrible aftertaste most of the time.  She loves cheesecake and she can eat pizza, but only if the amount of cheese is very small.  Pizza with so much cheese that it becomes stringy when you grab a piece is just disgusting. 

More than once over the course of breakfast, Moira had to stop herself from eating too quickly lest Mom or Dad scold her, reminding her that she still had plenty of time before school began.  Marty, as usual, just had her nose buried in one of the gossip columns of the _Daily Planet_.  However, as much as Moira despises the gossip column, this article actually caught her attention.

This article was talking about Superman.

“‘ _Superman:  Dead or Missing or Retired_ ,’” Moira read out loud. 

Almost periodically since their dad had hung up his mantle almost five or six years ago, the media has been all over what could have happened to the Man of Steel.  Some have speculated that he died.  Some have speculated that he had gone missing.  Some have (more accurately) debated that he simply retired and maybe even started a family.

Moira does remember that it was before Ryan was born that her dad had quit being Superman.  At the time she didn’t understand why.  Also, after Ryan was born, he had made everyone swear that he never find out from us who he was.  Moira could understand that.   Trying to keep his powers a secret is difficult enough, but at his age, would little Ryan be able to keep his father being—or having been—Superman a secret?  She’s sure that plenty of people wouldn’t believe him, but what if the wrong people heard about it?

Dad would turn into a guinea pig or a target for the media would be painted on his back.

On her way to school right now, Moira smiles to herself as, per her super-hearing, her parents are laughing and teasing each other about how she and Marty weren’t late for the bus when he himself tended to be late for the bus in their early years of high school.  That makes Moira laugh.  How can Dad be late for a bus when he can run as fast as he can?  For that matter, even though they are riding with Thea instead, how was it that she made it to her car on time and Marty was the one who was rushing?

Lucky for her, it meant that she got to ride shotgun in Thea’s car.

Maybe the best explanation would be that, having superspeed, they have trouble reminding themselves to prioritize and manage their time wisely.  Moira knows she doesn’t have superspeed, so she knows when the bus comes as well as her time window between when it arrives and when it leaves.  She figures on a day that they use the bus that it’s best to just be there and wait for the bus to come to her. 

Thea was just about to put her foot on the gas when Moira turned around and saw her sister in her high-heeled boots and red flannel. 

“Run Forrest, run,” Moira drawled to her sister.  As soon as Marty got in the car, Moira returned to her book. 

Given the fact that she’s half-human, she’s not immune to everything.  She can get carsick and she remembers a time or two when Marty came down with a nasty fever.  Moira’s just glad that she is able to enjoy a book in a moving vehicle without getting carsick.

As she reads her copy of _The Odyssey_ , she smiles to herself as Marty complains about being in the back seat.

“You should have been _quicker_ ,” Thea reminds her.  She places a lot of emphasis on the word.

Marty lets out a laugh, but it sounds more to Moira like a snarl.  “I had to fix my hair.”

That makes Moira laugh.  “Marty, you spend more time fix and re-fixing your hair than Dad does fixing the tractor!”  She doesn’t look over her shoulder, but she feels her sister’s scowl focused on her back. 

“Well if you had as much hair as I do, you’d understand,” Marty hisses. 

Moira smiles to herself.  She never let her hair meet her shoulders.  Right now, her mother’s hair is past her shoulders, but more often than not, her hair is short and what’s wrong with Moira wanting to mirror her mother’s typical hairstyle?  She doesn’t dye her hair blonde, but she does take pride in how her dad beams at her when he sees her hair. 

On a funny note, her mother complains that she’s more beautiful than she is.  Is her mother crazy?  Moira can keep her hair short, but long enough to do stuff with it the way her mother usually does, but who can look more beautiful than Chloe Sullivan-Kent?

That brings up a thought and Moira tries changing the subject.  “So, big sis, you’re heading off to college.”

Thea’s shoulders rise and fall as she exhales.  “Yes, and I am going to miss you guys.”

Marty scoffs.  “You get to live with Johnny and Aimee in that big, big house of theirs!”

“And you’re going to be the hottest freshman on campus,” Moira offers.

Thea scoffs.  “I’m sure that there are plenty of girls on the West Coast who are prettier than a corn-fed farmgirl from Smallville like me.”

“Aimee was a ‘corn-fed farmgirl from Smallville,’” Moira reminds her sister. 

Marty reaches forward and grasps Thea’s shoulder affectionately.  “Come on, Skippy, with breasts like yours, and those curves, and those long legs, and looking _Project Runway-_ worthy, you’ll have boys stumbling before they can get within five feet of you!” 

Thea laughs to herself.  Moira observes her thoughtfully.  As per Marty’s description, she does have nice breasts—not too small, but not uncomfortably large either.  Moira puts her breast size somewhere between her mother’s and their Aunt Lois’ breast size.  As for her curves, Thea's not as curvy as their mother, but does have more of what Moira could describe as a “hot athlete” sort of build.  And Thea won Miss Teen Sweet Corn two years ago, so that has to count for something. 

Thea wanted to sign up for Miss Teen USA Kansas, but their dad would let her.  Moira remembers their mom and dad getting into a big argument about it and eventually, they settled for letting Thea compete in the Sweet Corn pageant.  Their dad hung up his cape a long time ago, and he is usually very cagey, but why keep Thea—or even Moira and Marty—from competing in something less local?  Especially when _he_ was the star quarterback his senior year? 

At least in a beauty pageant, there’s no risk of inflicting serious harm to anyone.  Actually, Moira remembers her mother saying exactly that in that argument. 

“Johnny probably won’t let me go to orientation without him doing my hair,” Thea jokes eventually, taking a hand off the wheel and running her hand through her long hair.  It’s not as long as Marty’s, whose hair goes about halfway down her back.  Moira sometimes compares it to Aunt Kara’s hair.  Catching herself, she tries to focus on other thoughts besides their Aunt Kara. 

Instead, she smiles as she exchanges a look with her twin.  “Yep, that’s definitely going to happen.”

Marty scoffs as she adds, “Are you kidding?  Johnny is better at doing hair that all of us, even Mom, combined.  Remember how pretty Aimee’s hair was when Johnny invited us to that charity event last April?”

 _Is she kidding?_ Moira thinks to herself.  Johnny did both Aimee’s hair and his CFO and best friend, Tess Mercer’s hair and they were absolutely gorgeous!  Aimee’s dark hair was in an impossibly intricate half-up, half-down do with loose curls and just the right amount of loose bangs.  Moira thinks that Tess wanted something simpler done, but still the way her hair hung around her shoulder in a fiery curtain of lazy curls that blended quite smoothly with her long clear crystal earrings was superb. 

After seething and pouting about not being where they could have had their hair done by their brother, the twins and their older sister joked with him that he ought to quit the businessman venture and be a high-demand personal stylist. 

Johnny had smiled at them and told them that he’s more than satisfied with just doing hair for his friend and family—people he actually cared about.  More quietly, he joked that at some point, the twins ought to pin their father down while Johnny…”beautified” his hair.  Their mom overheard that and told them that that would make her very, _very_ happy.

So, one day the children of the Kent-Sullivan-Queen clan got together and, while Moira is sure everyone shares her regret for resorting to knocking out their father with kryptonite, Johnny managed to decorate his hair with some curls and bobby pins and Moira and her sisters covered his face quite expertly in makeup.  When Clark Kent came to, he came downstairs and little Ryan and their mother burst out laughing.  Ryan cemented their father’s embarrassment by saying,

“Mommy, Daddy’s a _lady_!”

“And a beautiful one too,” their mother added.

When their father confronted his elder children, Johnny promised that he would protect his sisters.  Their father was furious, but eventually he lightened up.   Moira and her sisters were grounded and Johnny was given a “timeout” in the form of losing visiting privileges for a month.  That was the part that made everyone quite upset. 

At the same time, though, Johnny felt that he needed to spend more time at home with an increasingly pregnant Aimee.

Moira sure is excited for the day that she finally gets to hold her infant niece, Riley. 

Soon, Smallville High appears and Moira shares a look with her twin.  No doubt, Marty is going to sign up for cheerleading tryouts.  Just thinking about it makes Moira want to gag.  Beauty pageants are one thing wherein women actually put effort into the ways they stand out—Moira particularly enjoys the talent show portions—but cheerleading?  It’s just uniformed exploitation meant to excite the football and basketball players and thus adding to the sexist overtones of sports. 

That’s why Moira prefers the Olympics.  Sure, many of the categories separate the men’s and women’s teams, but at least it’s not about sexualizing.  In those sports, the women are actually competing in something that has people talking about how well they did and less so about how attractive they are. 

And her twin wants to be a part of the smiley, sexualized crowd of girls brandishing pompoms while cheering for guys who constantly run the risk of everything from concussion to paralysis.  Marty tells her that she’s been watching too much of _Friday Night Lights_ and paying attention to injuries sustained from playing football, but it happens. 

“Cheer up, Moira,” Marty encourages.  “It’s high school; it’s going to be the best four years of our childhood!”

Moira shares a look with Thea.  Is Marty forgetting how their parents’—or even Johnny’s—high school years were?  Even Thea at times confided in Moira about some of the times in high school where she was just lonely.  Her beauty made her quite popular, but few actually knew her and the only friend that she had who wasn’t just a superficial heat-seeker trying to share the spotlight was some guy named Wendell. 

Wendell was a bookish guy who wore half-rim glasses and loved books.  Also, he had Asperger’s.  He was amazingly intelligent, but he had trouble with group conversations and there were only a handful of people who he allowed to touch him, Thea being one of them.  Sadly, though, his father was quite abusive emotionally and then his parents got divorced and, shortly before graduation, he was found in the bathroom with his wrists cut. 

Thea was devastated.  Not just because he had been dead for too long for her to use her healing powers which she inherited from their mother, but also because she felt that she hadn’t done enough.  She felt that if only she had been a better friend to him, maybe she could have prevented him from taking his own life.

Moira thinks that it’s part of the reason she wants to go to school in Star City.  Not just to be close to their brother, but also to distance herself from her guilt. 

She remembers overhearing their mother tell her that she was a fantastic friend to Wendell.  She helped him gather enough courage to ask out a girl that he liked and Moira remembers that they were actually in a relationship for some time.  She made sure that he was included and that his presence was recognized in everything that they did together.

Unfortunately, some wounds ran too deep for him.  Seeing his parents’ relationship deteriorate and then his father constantly venting out on him after his mother left without him just to the extent that he finished high school, was too much for him. 

In his suicide note, he thanked Thea for being his friend.  He gave her his blessing that someday she would make a man very happy and that any guy would be a fool to not see what a beautiful, intelligent, and caring person she is. 

Thea wished that he had simply talked to her about it.  Maybe he have talked to Johnny who had suffered the fallout of finding out that Mom and her late husband, Oliver Queen were ready to get divorced before he died.  Johnny has always had a way of helping people feel better about themselves and their situations in life.

After that, Moira is not terribly excited about high school. 

Thea stops beside the sidewalk where other people are being dropped off and the three girls regard each other thoughtfully.

“Oh, come on, girls, I’m not leaving for Star City until Friday,” Thea reminds her half-sisters.

“You really think that makes this any easier?” asks Marty sardonically. 

Thea rolls her eyes as she beams at her sisters in turn.  “Have a good day, you twerps.  And play nice,” she adds with a warning, albeit playful finger.  Will she ever stop being their ringleader when Johnny's not around?  For that matter who is going to be ringleader when she heads off to Star City?  As Moira thinks about it, maybe she and Marty will be ringleaders to their little brother.  

The twins offer their goodbyes to their sister as they get out of the car.  To her distaste, Moira can already tell that she and her twin are becoming the center of attention, especially among the boys.  The twins turn around at the same time and it’s like the parting of the Red Sea as they head up towards the front doors.

While Marty is all smiles and hair-tosses, Moira minds her own business and maintains an indifferent aura.  Sometimes, just to amuse herself, she contorts her features into a scowl as she fixes her blue-green eyes on the boys she catches swooning over her. 

Marty, the flannel-addicted twerp who is undoubtedly going to enjoy all the attention and Moira, the girl in a black velvet blazer that her brother got for her over a white blouse and dark blue jeans…it’s not going to take these hormonally-active boys and girls long to tell the Kent Twins apart. 

“Hello, high school,” Moira mutters dispassionately as she passes the threshold of her parents' childhood alma mater.

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To fans of Arrow, I hope that it's not sacrilegious that the Thea Queen in this is nicknamed "Skippy."


	4. Chapter Three

What could be the best way for Jonathan to describe his relationship with planes?  If one of the flight attendants of this plane were to ask him, and he abandoned all polite pretenses, he would say that he’d rather walk on broken glass barefoot.  If he didn’t leave it at that, he could share his childhood woes of flying. 

At least, he couldn’t say he ever fully got past the trauma of being in that plane with a bomb that killed his father, Oliver Queen to the extent that he could fly without his body feeling constricted.  Sometimes, after getting off a plane, when he finally allows himself to breathe normal, it hurts like he had spent the hours of flight in a corset.  Wryly, he remembers actually _wearing_ a corset once on a dare made by his wife and their friend, Felicity Smoak.

Those were three hours of his life that he’d never get back.  Sometimes, if it fits his schedule, after flying, he visits a spa where he enjoys the opportunity for a massage.  Usually, it’s not as special when it’s just by himself though.  He particularly enjoys couple’s massages shared with his wife, Aimee.

He tries to keep his mind off of her.  Not because thinking about her fills him with rage or sadness, but rather because part of the point in coming here to Metropolis is for him to clear his mind.  In fact it was both Aimee and his best friend, Tess, who practically stuffed the plane ticket into his pocket and tossed him on a plane. 

To say he was reluctant would be a bit of an understatement, but as he gets of the terminal and enters Metropolis International, he thinks to himself that when he calls them both to tell that he made it to Metropolis safely that he also thanks them for talking into it.

“Or forcing me into it,” he mutters to himself wryly.  He also laments that the flight itself would have been considerably easier on him if Aimee or Tess had been there.  As much as it would be nice, he can’t change that now. 

It will definitely help when his sister gets on that plane with him. 

Between today—Monday—and Friday, he figures that he might as well make the most of his presence here in the heart of Kansas.  He has a meeting scheduled with the head of the Metropolis branch of Sullivan-Mercer Enterprises this week.  Savagely, he, Tess, and even his mother and stepfather still smile and ponder what Lex Luthor, who is currently holed up on his own personal prison-island in the middle of the Pacific, thinks of the fact that his building was turned into a branch of a company shared by Jonathan Sullivan-Queen and Tess Mercer. 

“Who cares?” they always come to when talking about it.  Jonathan was very worried about his chances of being a businessman, especially since many would—and still do on a small extent—compare him to the late Oliver Queen, but he feels that he’s done very well.  With the help of the more experienced Tess—even though the Tess Mercer he calls his best friend is a younger clone of the original Tess Mercer—and the encouragement of everyone he loves, the company has become something that he is proud of.

He is sometimes at odds with board members because he favors business ventures that actually benefit the public over what might be the most profitable, but in the end the company is thriving financially and it still ranks pretty high in _Forbes_.  Even his mother, although she claims to be impartial, has offered rave reviews about the company.

Cynically, he wonders sometimes what people would think of Chloe Kent’s reviews if they knew she was his mother.  As he grew older—even though his body seems to have stopped at twenty-five—his mother doesn’t look old enough to be his mother.  As a result, she had to modify all information on her life, forging a birth certificate that coincides with how old she looks and inventing a new identity for herself. 

All information on her real life, however, Chloe Sullivan, born in 1987 and everything from that point onward is saved on a flash drive or SD card and kept in a safe place.

Sadly, Jonathan knows that at some point, he’ll have to do something similar lest he become a lab rat or something of the sort.  What is it about people and locking away and even experimenting on the things they don’t understand?

Jonathan doesn’t feel that it’s unfair to say that humanity is sometimes abandoned in science and the thirst for knowledge.  People like him, his mother, his stepfather and half-siblings would all likely become lab rats and never know the tastes of freedom again if the right people were to get their hands on them.

Right now, he just wants to focus on a lunch date that he has planned for somebody as he leaves the airport.

*******

Sometimes Chloe couldn’t believe she stays at this job.  Going on about eight years ago, as she started before she retired from the Daily Planet, she has been teaching journalism at MetU.  Before she retired, it was a part-time endeavor offered to her by the dean which Clark encouraged her to accept. 

Now she is a fulltime professor.  Sometimes she still has to stop herself from thinking about a few fun nights she shared with her husband where she dressed up as a stereotypical teacher and even adding his glasses to the getup.

 After a month or two, she really started to feel what can be like to be a teacher.  At one point, she even started to regret all those times growing up that she might have murmured and gossiped about the teachers she didn’t like.  She remembers going home a few times fighting back unshed tears from some of rather nasty things she’s overheard about herself. 

Sometimes it results in wonderful comfort sex with Clark.  Of course, Chloe prefers to make love to her husband when she is in a happier mood, but times when she just lets him rain kisses all over her skin, being inside her, and kissing away her tears…it can be the best feeling in the world.  Their definition of comfort sex might not involve much foreplay, but letting the other be the aggressor when all they need is a break from a bad day is really all they need. 

Chloe feels that if this day continues the path it’s going, she’s going to need a lot of comfort sex this weekend.  Maybe she and Clark will head off to the family cabin in Appalachia after the kids are asleep. 

Today she’s giving a lecture on the ethics of investigative journalism.  To try and add a little humor into her lecture, she says that it’s not necessarily the same as being a detective.  If the students want to be detectives than Metropolis Police Academy was a few blocks away.  Thankfully, it elicited a few laughs from her students.

Clark always tells her that students are more encouraged to listen if she can add humor to her lectures.  Chloe sure remembers times when she was ready to dose off from listening to her professors drone on and on, never doing anything to add to their monotones.

She tries not to let it bother her when she catches a student or two texting, or whispering, or even smirking at what she has to say.  Sometimes, she picks on the people she notices not paying attention by asking them questions regarding what she has to say.  Usually, it gets the desired effect and she goes so far as to threaten to throw them out of class. 

Even Chloe still can’t believe at times how strict she’s become as a professor. 

“So, Professor Sullivan,” begins one of her students, “Was there ever a time when you found yourself questioning your motives as a journalist?”

Chloe had finished her lecture with about fifteen minutes to spare in the class period and she asked for any questions. 

This kid asked a very good question and one that she could spend a long time answering.  Her husband is a prime example of some of her regrets as a journalist.  She still remembers like it was yesterday when Clark’s then-girlfriend, Alicia Baker, staged an impromptu demonstration of Clark’s abilities.

She remembers seeing the empty car approach Clark and her heart hammering in her chest as she was expecting him to get clobbered by it.  Then just as she thought she was about to lose the man that she’d loved and pined for since she was fourteen, he _caught the car_ and set it down gently like it was a beach ball.  Then she watched him run away in a blur. 

After that, she remembers gazing at her Wall of Weird that she’d spent so much time proudly putting together and thinking what a horrible person she must have been.  Exposing people, coining the term “meteor freak” and therefore branding a group of people like a Star of Jude, and Clark.  Would he have been as secretive with her if it weren’t for the Wall of Weird?  Was it the Wall of Weird—or at least one of the contributing factors—that fueled his insecurities and made him fear what she’d think of him? 

Of course, she can’t say all of that without revealing to everyone that her husband is the Man of Steel.  Clark was in the spotlight for all of a day or two before Linda Lake turned the public against him.  It’s best that Superman and Clark Kent stay two separate beings instead of being one and the same. 

Chloe smiles and just as she is about to answer the student’s question, another voice answers for her.

“I’m sure that there are plenty of times where Professor Sullivan found herself reevaluating what she was doing as a journalist, but that is an awfully personal question,” Chloe follows the voice with the rest of the class and she’s annoyed enough that she’s capable of hiding her excitement upon seeing who it is.

There standing near the door clad in a Burberry blazer over a light purple shirt unbuttoned near the top and blonde hair finger-combed sideways with some loose bangs level with his eyes somewhat is her eldest son.  Jonathan Queen—or Johnny Sullivan-Queen as he prefers to introduce himself—quickly elicits a few batted eyelashes and potential risks of swooning from many his mother’s students.  Wryly, she thinks that is he was like his father, one or maybe even a few of these girls would find themselves in his bed this evening. 

Johnny, for all his handsomeness, only has eyes for his wife, Aimee.  Even so, Chloe had come across a lady or two who either claimed they slept with him or were talking about seducing him.  The only way she’d be more offended would be if they actually had any chance of success.

“Every journalist does something or says something that they regret once in a while,” continues Johnny.  “I should know; I’m on some of the tabloids that I’m sure some of you like to waste money on.  Sometimes journalists even make a big enough mistake that they contemplate abandoning journalism altogether, but let me tell you all something.  Whether people rank you as a great journalist or not, or if you win a Pulitzer, it’s all just a waste of time.  Those are all nice things, but being a journalist should be about writing the truth and enjoying it.

“Preferably, it’s good to take people’s thoughts into consideration if they don’t wish to speak or if they don’t want their lives all over the news, but I can’t make any of you do anything.  People still try to make money off of illustrating me as a closeted adulterer.”  Johnny scratches his chin thoughtfully.  “I believe there’s a term for that.  Help me out, Professor.”

Chloe snaps to attention, but when she opens her mouth no sound comes out.

“It’s called ‘tabloid journalism,’ right?  Or even ‘yellow journalism?’” 

“Either way, would you all rather be people who make a mistake because you felt that you should’ve dropped that story or because it was just poorly researched gossip meant to get people talking and speculating?” finishes Johnny.  “Think about it.”

Chloe’s class starts murmuring about what her son had to say.  A guy who none of them even knew to be her son.  She checks the clock.  “Class dismissed and be ready for next Monday’s quiz.”  The students audibly groan as they begin filing out of the room.  Some, especially the young ladies, stop just long enough to point flirtatious smiles in Johnny’s direction.

 _In their dreams_ , Chloe thinks to herself.  When all the students leave she crosses her arms and regards her son somewhat sternly.

“Keep that up and you might as well replace me,” she remarks.

“Yeah and then the media can have a field day of the thirty-five-year-old billionaire turned investigative journalist,” Johnny quips. 

Chloe stares hard into the green depths of her son’s eyes that mirror her own.  She can’t help herself.  A smile breaks out over her features and rushes to meet her son in a firm hug.  It’s been months since she had seen her firstborn.  When she breaks away from him, she just has to ask,

“It’s wonderful to see you, but what’re you doing here?”

Johnny frowns.  “Does a guy need a reason to see his mother?”

Chloe cocks her head as her eyebrows furrow into a glare.  “You know what I mean.”

Her son sighs.  “It’s Riley.”

Chloe’s glare quickly melts into sorrow as she feels tears forming in her eyes. “Oh my God, sweetie, she didn’t…?”

Johnny’s face turns to complete horror.  “Wait, what?”  Then he seems to comprehend her unspoken question.  “Oh, God, Mom, no, no, _no_ , Riley hasn’t died!  I mean, yes, she’s still in the N.I.C.U., but no she’s not dead.  I do have a meeting later this week with the head of the Metropolis branch of the company and I wanted to take you to lunch, but mainly I’m here to give myself a break from Riley.”

Letting out a sigh of relief from knowing that she hasn’t lost her first grandchild, Chloe raises an eyebrow.  “A break from your own daughter?” she repeats.

Johnny frowns as he backtracks what he said.  “Oh, no it’s like that, Mom.”  He exhales heavily and he suddenly looks less like her son and more like a frightened father.  “If I’m not in a meeting, or if Aimee doesn’t manage to force me to come home and rest, I’ve been standing vigil outside that room day in and day out.  Last week, Tess and Aimee staged an intervention and told me to spend some time away from home and the company otherwise my stress level will boil over and I’ll do something I regret.”

Chloe cups her son’s cheek as understanding takes over.  Aimee was in an accident and Riley Queen came out of her mother’s womb six weeks premature.  Nobody has even had chance to actually hold her yet.  To make things worse, Johnny and Chloe didn’t think that their healing powers could fix six weeks’ premature birth.  Together they cured Aimee’s dad’s cancer, but that left them both drained and Johnny’s powers almost never have the side effects the way his mother’s does.  All they could do was wait and hope that Riley came out of the N.I.C.U. alive and healthy. 

It’s been seven weeks now. 

As Chloe cups her son’s cheek, she feels a tear wet her fingers. 

“I’m terrified Mom,” he confesses meekly.  “I’m terrified that I’m going to lose my baby girl before I even get to hold her.”  He bursts into tears and Chloe gently drags him down into a hug. 

“You’ll get to hold your daughter,” Chloe promises him, though she might have been promising herself more.  “You are going hold her and you Aimee are going to raise her, and she is going to grow into a beautiful, compassionate and intelligent person just like her mom and dad.”

Johnny chokes out a small laugh.  “You forgot the part where his grandparents will spoil her and drive her parents insane because of it.”

Chloe considers that.  “Meh, there’s that also.”

Now they are both laughing as Chloe releases her son from her embrace.  She clears her throat and becomes more businesslike.  “Now about that lunch you mentioned earlier?”

“Oh, yes, I made a reservation for the two of us at someplace downtown where the meals are not the most ostentatious, but the service and the food itself are superb,” her son informs her.

“You made a reservation?” Chloe teases.  “I would have thought that Jonathan Queen and waltz into a restaurant and get a table just like that,” she emphasizes with a snap of her fingers.

Johnny considers that.  “Yeah, but call me old-fashioned, but I feel that there’s a certain appeal, or etiquette, or maybe it’s just me trying to be a gentleman.”

Chloe lets out an amused smile.  “Trust me, honey; you’ve never struggled to be a gentleman.” 

“Unlike somebody we know?” quips Johnny, raising an eyebrow.

Now she’s laughing.  Chloe knows that he’s talking about his stepfather.  Clark can be a gentleman when he wants to, but usually his habitual awkwardness takes over and all Chloe can do is fight back her laughter and sympathy as her husband tries to work his way through.

“So what do you say, Professor Sullivan?” offers Johnny.  “Care to join me, or am I just going to have to eat alone?”

Chloe giggles as she links a hand around her son’s arm.  “Take me to lunch, Mr. Sullivan-Queen.”  As soon as it comes out of her mouth, she feels more like one of those college girls and less like her son’s mother. 

Then again, it’s safer to act like a close friend of Johnny’s rather than like his mother when out in public. 

*******

Forty-five minutes later, Chloe has to say that, true to her son’s words, the food and the service were top-notch.  Johnny had taken her to an Indian restaurant downtown and she thinks he made a good choice.

Having been married to a billionaire once, she knew the things on her menu weren’t as expensive as some of the menus she’d looked through, but once her chicken vindaloo and rice came, she was reminded that the amount of money spent had little to do with how something actually tasted or how well it was prepared.

Also, her water glass was never empty as their server came by routinely to fill their water pitcher. 

She felt a little underdressed compared to some of the other clientele, not including her son in her gray and black-outlined suit-dress.  At least she let her hair fall loose from its professional-looking up-do before entering the restaurant. 

More impressive is that Johnny can actually speak some Hindi.  Or at least enough to make a conversation with as Johnny phrases it. 

Johnny asks how his siblings are doing.

Chloe proudly tells him that they are all doing very well.  Ryan still can’t seem to live without mac and cheese at least once a week.  The twins have started high school.  Thea is excited to being joining her elder brother in Star City.

“How is she doing?” asks Johnny carefully.

Chloe knows what he’s asking.  “She’s…surviving,” she replies eventually.  “If anything, she thinks she’s convinced me that she doesn’t think herself a horrible person.”

Johnny offers an understanding smile.  “I remember Wendell.  I liked the kid.  Hopefully a change of scenery will help Thea recover more.  Does she still wear that fidget cube that Wendell gave to her around her neck?”

Despite the topic, Chloe smiles a little.  “She never takes it off.”  She is convinced that Thea doesn’t wear it in the sense that she’s trying to hold onto a piece of her friend.  She does believe that it’s something that reminds her of him, like a keepsake, but not as an anchor keeping her from moving on. 

“How are things at home?” asks Chloe.  Sitting up straighter.

Johnny smiles.  He goes on to say that the company is doing very well and between himself and Tess, the company has risen to the point that it’s one of the most profitable in the country.  One of their endeavors that tends to receive a bit of criticism from board members, is the free clinic meant to reach out to children—especially disabled or severely ill, like cancer patients—that Johnny consistently invests research and money into. 

It’s one of those endeavors that Chloe is extremely proud of and just goes to show everyone the kind of person her son is. 

It’s a part of the company, but Johnny doesn’t place much interest in the company’s military endeavors.  Johnny hates war and everything to do with it and Chloe remembers him and Tess repealing the wonder drug that Oliver Queen once tried that healed seemingly most, if not all wounds but increased aggression. 

Tess, his best friend and business partner, they are a working team.  Most decisions are made between them before they ever reach the board.  They discuss and see which ventures are worth pursuing and which ones ought to be scrapped. 

On the home front, Johnny tries to keep a pleasant atmosphere with Aimee and with Tess when she visits for dinner like she does every Sunday, but things are tense.  Chloe knows Johnny would tell her if they were going through a bad patch, but that’s not the case.  Johnny says that he and Aimee have had a few more fights than they normally do, but it’s simply because both are scared for their daughter. 

In fact, while Johnny is here in Metropolis, Aimee is visiting her dad.

“How is Ray?” asks Chloe.  It’s been some time since she’d spoken to her son’s father-in-law. 

Johnny smiles.  “He’s...he’s…” his smile melts into a frown. 

Chloe knows that particular frown.  “Sweetie, what’s the matter?”

Johnny shushes her.  Now she hears it.  Something is horribly wrong.  She recognizes that sound.  It’s the same sound she heard the day of her high school graduation. 

To solidify her recognition, she shouts, “Get down!” 

No sooner that she and Johnny get down and with their hands protecting their heads, all the windows blow out as a meteor slams into the building. 

“It’s a meteor shower,” she whispers.

*******

 

Clark is finishing up with fixing a section of fence that was damaged by a nervous horse when he hears the sound. 

Heartbeats—two heartbeats—that he knows like the back of his hand are hammering in his ears.  Chloe and his stepson, Johnny, are in trouble. 

“ _Clark, please help us,”_ comes Chloe’s voice, a frantic whisper pleading.

He drops his tools and levitates off the ground.  When he reaches a certain height, he focuses his telescopic vision towards Metropolis.  What he sees sends his own heart racing.  Meteors are falling from the sky!  Two people he loves are in danger! 

Wasting no time, he bursts into flight towards the city.  He’s about halfway there when he notices something wrong.  He registers what he’s wearing.  Blue T-shirt, jeans, and work boots.  The thought of it brings tears to his eyes for the memories it brings up, but he doubles back to his house anyway. 

He goes to a small mound in the back forty and frantically plunges his arms into the earth.  When his hands find a grip, he yanks the chest out of the ground, bringing up a large amount of dirt with it.  He breaks the padlock with his bare hand and ignores the familiar constriction of his muscles and boiling of his blood as he opens the chest.  Therein is his suit, surrounded by the kryptonite outlining of the inside of the box which served as a reminder to not open it. 

With all his might, he fights through the building pain as he reaches in and yanks out the red and blue suit and cape.


	5. Chapter Four

Clark doesn’t fly faster than light for risk of overshooting Metropolis—even if he has been flying for so many years now, that it would be very unlikely—but as frantic as he is, two people he loves are in the city, so he’s taking every precaution.

As he gets closer and closer to Metropolis, he slows to a stop just outside the city limits.  It’s like a hailstorm made of fiery rocks the size of cars and semitrailers.  It’s been a long time since he’s donned the blue tights and red cape, but this has to be one of the worst situations he’s ever had to face.  He might be a “superman” but he’s no god.  He can’t stop all of these meteors coming down.

He focuses his x-ray vision on the city, desperately seeking out his wife and stepson.  Eventually, he finds them.  It looks like they are caved in underneath a bunch of rubble.  He’s saved enough people from rubble enough times to know that they only have a short time before they suffocate—assuming they don’t get crushed to death.  Wasting no time, he flies towards them.

As he does however, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a meteor slam into a building.  As he watched, the freestanding structure starts wobbling dangerously like the homemade Jenga blocks he made for his daughters when they were seven.  The building is about to come down. 

He rushes to it just in time and he braces himself against the toppling structure.  He blows out the fire caused by the meteor and, amidst all the chaos he hears the sound of a camera shutter.  Turning towards the sound, he spots an injured woman in the building with a phone directed at him.  If Clark thinks his own eyes are wide, this woman’s eyes look like they are about to pop out of his skull.

If this meteor shower isn’t going to make the headlines enough, he can bet his farm that the return of Superman ought to be on the front page of a number of newspapers.

As he strains against the building—more for the risk of it coming down and less because of the actual weight—he knows that he can’t hold it up forever.  He focuses his x-ray vision of the city again and desperately looks for something that he can use.  He almost lets out a cry of joy when he sees a truck with a haul of support poles like the ones he sees all the time at constructions sites.  Even better, it’s close enough that he can fly to and from it fast enough before the building topples. 

There are a couple of buildings in his way so he knows that he’s going to have to be _fast_.  This is one of those times he wishes he could keep up with someone like Bart Allen.  He still misses that guy sometimes. 

With a deep breath, he lets go of the crippled building and flies to the truck so fast that everything else stops moving.  He maneuvers through the obstacle course of buildings, debris, and meteors until he reaches the truck.  When he reaches it, he momentarily considers flying the whole truck to a closer location to the building, but there are too many obstacles for even him to fly it through safely.  He grabs two beams at a time and flies them back to the building, positions them and then welds them in place with his heat vision. 

He repeats the action until there are no more beams.  Standing—or floating—back for a minute he observes it.  The building audibly groans against the crude patch-up which vaguely reminds Clark of when Johnny had braces in middle school, but it’s not coming down. 

Now back on to his original task, he flies towards his wife and stepson.  As he flies towards their location, he passes the Daily Planet and something makes him offer it a second glance.

“Oh, come _on_!” complains Clark.

The iconic golden globe atop the building is coming down.  He rushes towards it and barely catches the golden globe before it lands on a family of four with two small children.  Like the woman in the building that was about to topple, these people, or at least the parents since the children look too young to remember him, are dumbstruck.

Wryly, Clark thinks that he should have donned something black like when he was just “the Blur.”  His theme song could be “Back in Black.”  He makes a mental note to share that thought with his wife, assuming she doesn’t come up with something similar on her own first. 

He flies the globe back to its position atop the Daily Planet and welds it back in place.  Why does he suddenly feel that it was never structurally sound in the first place?  He can think of quite a few occasions that involved the revolving globe toppling from its position.  He’s no architect, but it seems like a hugely fatal flaw. 

Now he can go after his family.   He flies towards the rubble, vaporizing meteor with his heat vision along the way.  Usually, thinking about thinking about his wife, preferably free of clothing, dominate his thoughts when using heat vision, but not this time.  This time, it’s just pure unadulterated anger.

He doesn’t know why he’s feeling angry.  He knows he’s feeling such fear for the lives of his loved ones that he ought to be trembling and biting his nails—a habit he’s picked up as a father—but he’s not.  It’s that exact fear of not waking up to his wife’s smiling face, or not being teased and sharing father-son moments with his godson-turned-stepson—his daughter, Moira actually once compared him to Claudius from _Hamlet_ for that little detail—that’s driving him forward. 

As for the anger, he never wanted to don the suit again.  It’s why he had the suit put in a lead chest with the inside outlined by enough kryptonite to nearly kill him and then buried in the back forty.  It was to remind him not to give into the temptation to take it up again.  This meteor shower, it feels like karma or some sort of message sent from God, or perhaps a less benevolent being, telling him to get off his ass and be who he was meant to be.

All of that fuels his emotions to the point that he can activate his heat vision without the help of hormones. 

He’s just about reached the place where Chloe and Johnny are stuck when, before he can react, a meteor slams into his back.  The meteor sends him down with it to the ground. 

Now he’s stuck underneath a bit of meteor and pavement as well as a broken sewer line.  He should be getting up by now.  Why hasn’t he gotten up?  Then he feels it—the familiar sense of his blood boiling and the feeling of his skin threatening to deteriorate as if from a lancehead snakebite.  It’s kryptonite.

The meteor shower has fragments of kryptonite.  Clark may be feeling the effects of kryptonite, but as he feels himself beginning to black out, he notices something else.  Some sort of rock that he thinks he recognizes from somewhere, but can’t remember where.  The only memory that is triggered by the rock is a barren wasteland illuminated by blue stars.

*******

This isn’t the first time Chloe found herself trapped underground.  With painful clarity, the memory that she didn’t know she still had of being buried alive replays over and over in her mind.

“Clark!” screams Johnny, who is pinned with her underneath this large piece of ceiling.  

They took cover when the initial meteor hit and this piece of ceiling collapsed on them while they were on the ground.  They already gave up trying to lift it so that they could crawl out from underneath.  

Now they are just stuck in a caved in restaurant with a few dead or unconscious bodies around them.  To make things even worse, with every breath they are inhaling smoke from the fires left over from the initial explosions from the kitchens.  The situation on the upper floor that they have a view of through the gaping holes in the ceiling doesn't look any better either.

This isn't the first time she's been buried, or at least partially buried with no escape.  This isn't the first time she's been in a fire.  Although this has to be the first time that it was all combined.  

“Please stop,” Chloe beseeches her son as he continues to scream for help.

Johnny whips his head towards her and frowns. 

“You’re wasting your breath, sweetie,” Chloe reminds her son. 

Johnny rolls his eyes and settles his head down against the rubble.  A small laugh escapes his lips and his mother frowns.  “Is this what I get for needing some time away from my little girl?” he demands into the broken ceiling.  “I reluctantly leave for Metropolis, and then I invite my mother out for lunch, and now _this_?”

“Johnny…” begins Chloe, feeling tears sting her eyes.

“ _What_ , Mom?” shouts Johnny, his eyes wild. 

Chloe sighs heavily, but tries to keep a bit of air in her lungs, otherwise the weight of the ceiling pinning the two of them might crush her.  “It wasn’t a mistake for you to come here,” she argues flatly.

Johnny blinks.  “It wasn’t?” he repeats, more softly. 

“Call me selfish, but I always enjoy an opportunity to see my son,” Chloe explains with what she hopes is a playful grin.  “I’m just sorry that things didn’t turn out the way we both would have liked.  And this definitely isn’t my first time…” she catches herself; she didn’t mean to add that little detail.

“Not your first…” repeats Johnny, then it looks like he puts the pieces together.  “Mom is this not the first time you’ve been trapped underground?”

Chloe doesn’t like the idea of talking about it, but she might as well.  “When I was fifteen, I was buried alive by sheriff’s deputy.”

Johnny gapes.  “A _sheriff’s deputy_?”

More tears sting Chloe’s eyes as the memories replay in her mind.  “He was a struggling, not to mention disturbed, man who was hoping to kidnap me, bury me, then save me in the hopes of boosting his reputation.”

“That’s stupid.”

Chloe laughs in spite of herself.  “I thought so too.  I was terrified and I was sure I was going to die, but then Clark saved my life.  I was never more traumatized and every time I closed my eyes, I saw the roof of that coffin and the sound of dirt landing on it kept replaying over and over again in my ears.  I couldn’t even sleep.”

“How did you overcome it?” asks Johnny tenderly.

Chloe smiles at the one happy moment of the memory.  “Clark held my hand in the hospital until I fell asleep and he was there when I woke up.”

“To this day it astounds me that you two weren’t romantically involved in high school,” marvels Johnny. 

“Hey, he took me to Spring Formal right after that near-death experience,” Chloe protests defensively. 

“And then he left you _to save someone’s life_ and when he offered to make it up to you, your silly insecurities got in the way,” Chloe wonders if it weren’t for the fact that she is married to Clark if Johnny’s tone would be less teasing and more reproving.

“Well, at least we can both say we are married to our high school sweethearts,” she offers teasingly.

“Yours was a crush; _mine_ was the sweetheart,” Johnny corrects her weakly.

“Johnny?” asks Chloe fearfully.  Oh, God he’s losing conscious.  “Johnny, you listen to me, you stay awake!  Johnny…!”

Johnny’s eyes close and suddenly it’s the tunnels with Lois all over again, only this time, Chloe can’t move so she can wrap him in her embrace and heal him.

Chloe stares up at the ceiling and, with all the capacity in her lungs she screams, “SOMEBODY HELP US!”


	6. Chapter Five

When teachers saw the meteor shower in the distance towards Metropolis, it wasn’t long before announcements were made to move everyone into the hallways and classrooms with no windows.  Moira ran into Marty earlier and quietly they discussed if there were any procedures to follow in the wake of meteor showers.  They already know what happens in the event of a tornado or fire drill, but given that it is Smallville, would they have some sort of “meteor shower drill?” 

The twins concluded that it wouldn’t have mattered.  Maybe they moved all the students into the hallways or into rooms without windows so as to control the already intense atmosphere of panic.  The twins individually tried to get ahold of Thea, or their mom or dad, but the meteor shower, even if it’s far away, must be interfering with everyone’s cellular signals. 

An hour passed.  People are still trying to contact their loved ones.  The ones who most likely have friends or family stuck in Metropolis are comforting each other and holding hands as they try to convince each other that everything is going to be okay.  Teachers and staff frantically move back and forth trying to keep an air of calm within the building, but anybody can see that they are panicking as well. 

As far as Moira is concerned, that doesn’t make them bad teachers, it just makes them human.  She would be more worried if they didn’t seem at all nervous or scared or whatnot.  Upon her twin’s encouragement, she tries to focus her super-hearing on the voices of her family.  This is her least favorite part of that particular power.  The moment when she opens her ears to everything happening and the cacophonous mayhem invades her ears like a thousand tiny shards of glass.  She’s still not able to do it without wincing just a little bit and Marty holds her hand for comfort as well as encouragement as she tries to pinpoint the voices of her loved ones.

She hears screams, shouts, conversations, crying, vehicles, fires…orgasmic sounds, music, animals, machinery, all mashed together.  Eventually she pinpoints her older half-sister’s voice.  From the sound of it, Moira’s safest guess is that she is pacing a hole in the floor as she hears their mother’s voicemail.

 _“Hi, you reached Chloe Sullivan-Kent, please leave message at the beep,”_ says the cheery voice of their mother.

Moira hears Thea grumble anxiously.  _“Oh, Mom, Daddy, Moira, Marty, Johnny, please pick up!”_

What about little Ryan? 

Moira focuses her hearing until she finds Ryan at Smallville Elementary.  It sounds like the school is on a similar lockdown as the high school is, but Ryan is all laughs and giggles as his teacher keeps trying to get him to sit still instead of playing with one of his classmates.  At least somebody is having a good time.

Moira has never really tested the full extent of her hearing radius, but she tries to sift through the sounds that she hears in Metropolis.  It sounds like the meteors have stopped falling, but in the wake of it, the screams, the crying, people calling in vain for their loved ones, people screaming anguish over their dead loved ones…it’s almost too much for Moira to handle.  She feels tears sting her eyes as she feels close to joining that crowd of anguish.  _Mom, Daddy, where are…?_  She thinks to herself.

 _“SOMEBODY HELP US!”_ her mother’s voice rings so loud in her head that, before she can stop herself, Moira cries out in pain as she doubles over. 

“Moira?” asks Marty’s frantic voice as Moira’s ears return to her current setting. 

Moira’s eyes swim into focus and she sees her sister leaning over her with a terrified glance.  “Mom’s in trouble,” she says hoarsely.

Marty’s eyes widen.  “What?” she whispers.

“Ms. Kent?”

The twins look up and see one of their teachers peering down at them suspiciously.  Yes, why are two people speaking when no one is supposed to?

Moira opens her mouth to speak, but disjointed words pour out of her mouth and she feels like her father when some stupid woman is foolishly trying to flirt with, or seduce him.  Thankfully, Marty saves her.

“We’re so sorry, Mr. Gavin, but my sister is going to be sick, do you mind if I help her over to the bathroom?” she asks, in that sweet, girly voice that oddly seems to work on most guys.

Mr. Gavin peers down at the twins through his trifocals.  The muscular man with curly black hair and a well-trimmed goatee can’t be older than thirty-five, yet so far he’s shown himself to be one of their strictest teachers out of the teachers they share.  Moira thinks he’s looking at her ears and upon seeing them, his features go from suspicion to worry.

“Actually, why don’t I take you to the nurse’s office,” he says.  Before either twin can object, Mr. Gavin stoops down and helps Moira to her feet.  As he and Marty escort her to the nurse’s office, Moira gingerly touches one of her ears with a delicate finger.  When she pulls her hand away and inspects it, she sees blood.

Wherever her mother is, she screamed loud enough to make Moira’s ears bleed.  Nothing ever makes her dad’s ears bleed.  She loves her mother with all her heart, but she does resent some of the shortcomings that come with being half-human.

Once they get to the nurse’s office and are left alone, the twins get down to business. 

“You sure you’re okay, Shakespeare?” asks Marty.  Shakespeare isn’t the only person Moira reads, and she prefers John Webster, but she doesn’t mind her twin’s nickname for her. 

Moira cocks her head.  “Mom’s in trouble!” she snaps, though it felt more like a hushed shout.  “We need to save her!”

Marty nods her agreement.  “You’re right; I’m going to Metropolis.”  She turns to leave, but Moira stops her.

“How are you going to find her?” she asks reasonably.

Marty considers that for a minute to two.  “Moira, you can’t run as fast as I can.”

“And you cannot hear as well as I can.”

“You’ll slow me down,” Marty reminds her stubbornly. 

“We can argue, or we can go save our mother,” Moira states sagely.  Despite the situation, a smile spreads across her lips.  “So, Prince Charming are you going to help a lady or not?”

Blushing furiously, Marty tucks an arm under her twin’s legs and another cupping her back and lifts her off the chair like they’ve seen their father do to their mother so many times.   “That’s _Princess_ Charming, thank you very much.”

Moira beams at her twin as she wraps her arms around her neck.  “Dad will be pissed with us.”  The fact that they are ditching their first day of high school or that they are putting themselves  in danger even if it’s to save their mother?

“Completely,” agrees Marty. 

“So what are we waiting for?”

Moira braces herself as Marty bursts into super-speed.  Moira doesn’t feel that her sister is as graceful as their dad is, but she is young and there’s always room for improvement.  As the wind and the world rushes past them, the sounds of screaming, fire, sirens, and complete chaos begin slowly at first, but quickly build up to a crescendo as Marty quickly nears the city.  Once Marty reaches the middle of the city, she stops. 

After being set down gently, Moira takes a minute to observe her surroundings.  She remembers seeing footage of events like Nine-Eleven and some of their dad’s more destructive battles with various enemies of his (which always seems to be a huge list) but here being in the middle of it…  Rubble is littered all over the place.  In the buildings Moira can see, chunks are missing like big gashes revealing more or less collapsed floors, smoldering fires, broken furniture and even…dead bodies.

Car alarms, children screaming for their parents, people crying over friends or loved ones, even a few injured animals, and servicemen and women shouting all invade Moira’s ears and tears flood her eyes.  She was here only a week ago with her mom when they went shopping and now it’s like someone came by with a giant razor and offered a nasty shave to the city. 

Moira looks down at her feet and sees that she’s standing next to a dead girl who can’t be any older than eight.  Must see the girl’s body too because she’s a lot more vocal about it.

“Oh, God,” she moans.  Moira turns away as her sister retches. 

Doing her best to keep her eyes off the girl who most likely died from trauma to the head, she tries to focus on the task at hand.  She focuses her hearing again.  Her cheeks burn with tears as all the suffering hits her already tender eardrums.  The sooner she can pinpoint her mother’s heartbeat the better. 

It’s like a playing a game of blind man’s bluff without a blindfold.  Moira doesn’t know if x-ray vision is one of the powers she will gain as she gets older, but it would be extremely helpful in situations like this.  All the suffering that is hitting her ears is so intense that it brings her to her knees.  The more she hears, the more she just wants to hug someone, or run to the safety of her dad’s, or even her older brother’s arms. 

Eventually, she pinpoints her mother’s—and her brother’s—heartbeats.  She even hears their father’s heartbeat which is even fainter.  She opens her eyes and looks up at her sister through blurred eyes. 

“I found them,” is all she says.  The two of them breaking into a sprint, Marty follows Moira’s lead as they weave their way through people, wreckage and ignoring all manner of signs warning people to stay away from certain areas.  A few times, they actually find themselves cutting through wrecked buildings and hopping over rubble and dodging through fires. 

It proves unavoidable coming across dead bodies, smoldering cadavers left over from fires, and all manner of injured people screaming and moaning and crying out for help. 

Eventually, they find the place where Moira heard her mother screaming for help. 

Now it is Moira’s turn to say, “Oh, my God.”  She recognizes the low-rise building as having a number of very fancy shopping places and restaurants situated on ground level.  There’s a large hole on the south side where a meteor made an impact crater and for all the fires, it seems that none of the city fire department’s resources made it to this building. 

Where Moira hears her mom and brother’s heartbeats the strongest, she sees the collapsed ruins of the upper floor.  If her bearings of the city are as good as she thinks they are, there should have been a high-end Indian restaurant on this corner of the building. 

The twins share a look.  Then they look up and down the street. 

Screw it.

They rush to the rubble and start tearing through it.  As they shift through pieces of rubble that are undeniably too heavy for a typical human being, they also try to make sure that they do so without worsening the situation.  The last thing they want is for more rubble to collapse on them while trying to pry through it. 

Eventually, it seems that they are close as what must be an air pocket explodes in their faces.  Moira is blown backward and lands in a car.  She’s a tough girl and takes a lot to physically harm her, but this actually hurt!

“Moira, are you okay?” shouts Marty, rushing over to her sister. 

Moira nods, but takes a minute to catch her breath.  “We need to get mom and Johnny out of there.”

Marty nods her agreement as she helps her sister to her feet.  They rush over to the partially collapsed building again and with a combined effort, they slam the rest of the way through the rubble. 

Within they find the ruined Indian restaurant.  They also find more dead bodies, broken dishes, food all over the place, and…if Moira knows her twin at all, then both their hearts jump to their throats as their eyes land on their mom and brother underneath a slab of rubble.

Not even taking a minute to consider, they rush over and grab opposite ends of the slab.  They lift it off their loved ones like it is the wrapping paper they using to play with on the holidays.  Moira grabs her mother and Marty their brother and rush out of the ruined building just as another fire erupts behind them. 

Once they get a safe distance from the building, they set their loved ones down and begin administering CPR.  Moira knows they have to be careful considering their strength and they trying to pump and breathe life back into their mom and brother.

“Come on, Mom,” pleads Moira, as she breathes air into her mother’s lungs.  Marty makes similar pleads to their brother.  Their brother and their dad have told them what it’s like to lose at least one person that they love and they are _not_ going to lose him or their mother. 

“Please, Mommy, just breathe,” begs Moira.  She hasn’t called her that in a few years and all she can think of right now is her mother’s smile, the coffee scent of her when they hugged, the way she mercilessly teased her dad, always being there when she needs someone old to talk to… Her heart leaps out of her chest as her mother gasps and starts hacking with coughs.  It sounds like Johnny is regaining consciousness as well. 

The twins take turns hugging their mother and brother as tears stream down their faces. 

“Moira, Marty—you two—sh-should be in school,” their mother scolds between coughs.

“So much for wanting to surprise you twerps after school,” laments Johnny between coughs. 

“Johnny, please no name-calling.”

Johnny shares a look with his twin sisters.  “Well, even when we almost died, our mother never runs out of reprimands.” 

The twins laugh as they bury their brother in a hug.

“What are you doing in town?” asks Marty.

Johnny explains that their baby niece is still in the N.I.C.U. and to get him away from standing vigil for several weeks, Aimee, their sister-in-law, and Tess Mercer convinced him to get out of town.  Moira has to agree that things didn’t turn out as well as they would have hoped.  He even jokes that maybe him coming to Metropolis was a bad omen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demands Marty.

“I come to Metropolis and down come the meteors,” explains Johnny.

Moira thwacks him in the head—gently.  She doesn’t want to knock him out. 

“If you start think that this meteor shower was your fault then I am going to have to start wondering if you are an alien,” she says.

Despite everything, Johnny raises his eyebrows at her.  “Maybe I am an alien.”

This time it’s their mother that speaks.  “Mm, I’m not so sure about that.  You don’t get on my nerves enough.”

Everybody looks to her and they burst out laughing. 

“Speaking of aliens, where’s Dad?” asks Johnny. 

All laughter ceases and Moira remembers the second reason why they were in Metropolis.  She focuses her hearing again and there’s her father’s faint heartbeat again.  It’s close.  Very close.  She opens her eyes and registers the three expectant and worried looks around her. Ignoring them, she gently pushes past them and starts running towards where she hears the heartbeat.  She doesn’t have to turn around to know that her family is close behind her. 

The sound leads her to a huge crater where she sees the remains of a meteor.  Her father is stuck under there somewhere.  Marty joins her and together they start shifting through the remains of the meteor rock.  Johnny tries to offer his help, but they just resuscitated him so their mother holds him back.

As they continue to dig through the rock, Moira starts to feel uncharacteristically weak.  She can tell Marty feels it too and not long after they start to feel feverish and woozy.  They never get feverish. 

“It’s kryptonite,” the twins say as one.  Their mother and brother hear them and the twins are the ones being pushed back as their mom and Johnny start shifting rocks.  Eventually, they see the unmistakable red and blue of their father.  He’s wearing his Superman suit. 

Were this any other day, Moira would be thrilled to see her father dressed up in his Superman suit. 

The rocks are cleared away from him and the twins help their brother drag their father away from the crater. 

“Come on, Clark, I can’t lose a third husband,” says their mother as she cradles his head in her lap. 

Moira can’t always stop herself from feeling bad for her mother.  First husband—too many breakups for a girl to handle followed by being married while her mind was piggybacked by Brainiac.  Then things took a turn for the worst when she got involved with that guy Davis Bloome and her husband said, “Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life.”  What a sweet guy.  Then he was killed. 

Second husband—Moira’s mother doesn’t know this, but last year Johnny revealed to Marty and her a few gruesome details involving her relationship with his biological dad, Oliver Queen.  She spent a lot of time in a friends-with-benefits relationship with him and then when they acknowledged that they were in a _real_ relationship, they got married.  They got married Ross and Rachel style, only they stayed together.  Moira’s dad even convinced them to have a real ceremony and after maybe twenty years, Oliver Queen perished in a nuclear explosion.

So, Chloe Kent has had enough heartache in her life.  And if Moira will be honest, she doesn’t want to lose her dad.

Eventually, Superman’s eyes flutter open and begins thrashing. 

“Chloe, Johnny—!” he babbles as the twins restrain him.  The last thing they need if for him to accidentally injure their mother or brother. 

“ _Daddy_!” the twins holler as one. 

Clark Kent stops thrashing as his eyes find his daughters.  Then he turns his attention to his wife and stepson. 

“Chloe, Johnny…” he says more softly through what Moira knows to be tears of joy.  She and her sister get off of him so that he can get up and embrace their mother and brother in turn.

“I thought I lost you two,” he sobs. 

“We thought we did too,” adds Marty.  Moira couldn’t agree more.  Then their father focuses his attention on them.

He’s…scowling?

“Why aren’t you two in school?” he demands sharply.

The twins stammer.  Their father storms over and lifts Moira’s wrist to his face, checking her watch.

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter now since school is over,” he says harshly.  “Consider yourselves grounded.”

Before anyone can say anything to him, he shoots into the air and flies away.  Everyone just stands there staring up at the sky for a minute or two, perplexed. 

“Thanks for saving everyone’s lives, girls,” gripes Marty.

“Hey, no problem, Daddy,” adds Moira.

Now what?


	7. Chapter Six

Three times in her life now Kansas has been struck by meteors.  She might have only endured two of them, but still it is all Chloe can do to keep herself from scratching a hole in her head.  The first two times, it was Smallville, and now Metropolis.  As she walks with her family, trying to find her car, she casts several mournful looks towards the wreckage around her.  Not that she feels that it makes it any better, but when town like Smallville was hit by meteors, it took only a few months' worth of rebuilding.  She remembers how devastating Clark's first battle with Zod went when Zod had possessed Lex Luthor.

That time around, under the cover of night, Clark spent many long hours clearing up the wreckage.  Even Lex Luthor pitched in with his several donations towards rebuilding the city and the charity events dedicated to helping those affected by the disaster.  Chloe can think of several occasions where Mr. Luthor used the destruction caused by some of Superman’s uglier battles as a way to fuel his anti-Superman support.  Sadly, it sometimes worked to the point that there were heated debates among the media and general public about whether the Man of Steel ought to be cast out or not. 

Chloe remembers exposing a few arms dealers smuggling kryptonite weapons into Metropolis with the help of Johnny.  Chloe smiles to herself as she gazes at her eldest as he tries to offer help with people.  He swore a long time ago that he is done with being a hero, like his teenage years when he donned that purple and black outfit and called himself the Purple Arrow, but helping people has always been one of his greatest passions in life. 

She can’t decide if it was her, or Oliver, or if it was a combined effort that Johnny has such a strong desire to help those in need.

“Girls, help me with this!” cries Johnny.  He’s trying to help somebody trapped in a taxi which is caught between a truck and a wall.  To make things worse, a billboard above it all is threatening to come down. 

The twins exchange looks with their mother.  Chloe is already disappointed in them for running out of school, but they did save her and their half-brother.  They are here, so they might as well make themselves useful.  She ushers her daughters towards the taxi. 

“Okay, buddy I need you to close your eyes?” informs Johnny.  The man inside the taxi covers his eyes as instructed and Marty smashes the rear window with her bare hand.  It’s then that Chloe sees why Johnny needed his twin sisters’ help.  The protruding from the side of the taxi nearest to the wall, an ATM has the man pinned. 

“Okay, girls, on the count of three, I need you both to lift that ATM while I pull this man out,” instructs Johnny.

The twins reach in and place their hands under the ATM.  Johnny counts to three and as they lift, he frantically drags the man out of the taxi.  In a nick of time too, as the billboard comes crashing down onto what’s left of the taxi just as they pull away. 

“Are you alright, sir?” asks Johnny, examining the man. 

The man steadies himself.  Chloe thinks that he can’t be any older than thirty-two or something around that age.  Tall, dark hair, stubble, long and broad nose and somewhat squared jawline…Chloe thinks she recognizes him.  Why does she recognize him?  From where does she recognize him? 

“I am now,” replies the man.  He sounds British.  “And who are you?”

“Jonathan Sullivan-Queen,” replies Johnny, holding out his hand.  The British man grasps it graciously.

“Chris Zodiac,” says the man.  “Thank you so much.”  Chris Zodiac observes the area around them.  “I was in town from London and all of the sudden this bloody meteor shower began.  My driver swerved to miss one of the meteors and just ended up getting caught in the blast.”

That must explain why the taxi was sandwiched between the building and the truck.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Johnny deadpans.  “I was visiting from Star City and down come the meteors.”

Mr. Zodiac offers an understanding smile. “Sounds like we both picked a bad time to visit this city.”

“Must have,” agrees Johnny.  “Well, listen, I have to get going, but you take care.”

“I will, and thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two men shake hands again and before Mr. Zodiac turns away, Chloe catches him locking eyes with her.  Now she _knows_ she recognizes him from somewhere. 

Maybe she shouldn’t put too much thought into it.  After some more walking, she finally finds her car—well at least what’s left of her car.  She exchanges a mournful look with her children.

“You don’t suppose there’s still a taxi around, do you?” asks Moira.  After a moment’s consideration, even if her question was meant to be sarcastic, everyone looks to Marty.  Marty registers everyone’s smiles and rolls her eyes.

“So what, I’m taking everyone back to the house, now?”

*******

Clark sat in his bedroom.  He had taken off his suit and is now staring at it in such a way that he might burn it with his heat vision.

He hadn’t worn the figure-hugging outfit in years and now, when he wears it again, he almost dies. 

When he came home almost a half hour ago, Thea launched herself on him in a hug.  In spite of everything, he hugged her back and calmed her as she cried.  She was worried sick about everyone and had been trying desperately to get ahold of someone, but she couldn’t reach them.  Not to mention, the animals were growing nervous from the tremors caused by the bombardment of meteors in a city that was a few hours away.

Clark had apologized for making his stepdaughter worry so much.  He then told her that he needed some time alone even as she asked about the rest of their family.  Ignoring her questions, once he got in the house, he locked himself up in his room upstairs. 

There is nothing in here that he can slam his fists against in frustration without destroying it, so he just sits still in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt as he glares at the suit that helped dub him Superman.

He might have gone into the loft, but his children have conquered it, turning it into a den of their own and going so far as to push him out when they need their space.  Nostalgically, he remembers doing something similar when he would go hide up in that barn loft when his parents or his friends tried to console him.  Instead he is in the bedroom that he shares with his wife.

Guiltily, he focuses his hearing on Thea and hears her crying down in her basement bedroom.  He remembers his children fighting over who got the basement bedroom.  Thea is the oldest out of the children still living at home and the twins should be grateful that they aren’t being forced to share a bedroom. 

Clark might have felt guilty at one point about expanding the house, but as he started having children with Chloe, it ended up being a smart move for him.   

Now Thea is crying.  Whether it’s because she has no idea what’s happened to her family or because Clark wouldn’t say anything to her, he couldn’t tell.  It’s most likely a mixture of both. 

Truth is, he’s pretty torn up himself.  The one time in the last five years or so that at least one or two people that he loved were in danger and he becomes incapacitated by kryptonite.  The kryptonite was strange enough, but what was that other material that had hurt him so much?  He thought he recognized it, but from where?

Either way, this was not Superman’s finest moment.  No doubt the media would be all over the return of Superman and would shed him in a less than scrupulous light.  Why not?  Superman doesn’t show his face anywhere for five or six years and it takes a _meteor shower_ for him to reappear.  It was a hell of a comeback, Clark thinks wryly.

How would Jor-El feel about his efforts, or lack thereof?  How would his father, Jonathan, feel who did even live to see him become who he was meant to be?  How would his mother feel?  How Kara…?

A new wave of sadness comes over Clark as he focuses his gaze on a bookshelf on his side of the bedroom.  Tearfully, he gets up and strides over to it.  Carefully, he moves a few of his books until he finds a red scrapbook.  Handling the scrapbook as if it were a newborn baby (which, along with the rest of his family, he hopes to have the opportunity to hold sooner than later) he sits back down on the bed and begins sifting through the pages.

He smiles at photos from his wedding.  That quiet November wedding with only Lois, Tess Mercer, Aimee Marek, Bruce Wayne, and Johnny—who also officiated the ceremony—always feels like yesterday whenever he thinks about it.  They did have a late guest.  Kara.  Kara, having gone to and fro between the thirty-first century and this century, couldn’t always come when she liked, but she managed to make it to his and Chloe’s wedding.

He remembers them talking later that evening.  She remarked how he had been living up to what he used to say, that everyone shapes their own destinies.  Subconsciously, Clark sometimes believes that he lives by that philosophy in honor of Jonathan Kent who always told him to not let his judgment be ruled by what destiny laid out for him.

Sometimes, Clark feels that that is part of what made him see that Lois was not the woman for him.  He doesn’t know nor care what pre-destined fate lies before him, but among other things, he can refuse to let destiny decide who would be his mate in life.  He genuinely—or at least he thought he genuinely—loved Lois Lane at one point in his life, but then again, he thought at one point that he was destined to be with Lana Lang. 

It took two definitive breakups, both of whom had told him at one point or another that he was meant for another woman, to find his love in life and he has been married to her for sixteen years now. 

Clark gazes mournfully at a photo of him and Kara with their arms around each other’s neck and smiling into the camera.  Six years ago, a fight with one of their more dangerous adversaries, Anti-Monitor, resulted in the deaths of many, including Kara.  She saved Clark’s life and more importantly, that of his pregnant wife and twin daughters. 

After hosting a funeral for her and encasing her in what amounts to a glass coffin in the Fortress of Solitude, Clark decided he was done being Superman.  Jor-El, unsurprisingly objected, but it was his decision to make.  Jor-El was not the only one.  Chloe objected and it led to a long argument, but ultimately, they agreed that being a father and having another baby on the way at the time…Clark could not be father and a superhero at the same time. 

Oliver Queen might have done it quite well all things considered, but it also meant that there were a number of near-misses before his death.  One of those near-misses made Clark’s now-stepson, Johnny, a killer at the tender age of fifteen. 

Clark doesn’t like the idea of his children being in a position where they will be forced to take a life. 

So, for the last six years, Clark has been a fulltime farmer.  It almost reminds him of a time when things were so much simpler.  A time when he would be helping his parents around the farm and the end of the day would always promise a wonderful dinner.  Now he’s the parent and his children are the ones working around the farm.  Chloe contributes where she can, but she does do freelance journalism under various names once in a while as well as teaching journalism at MetU.  Clark was worried when she decided to use her real name at the university, but she assured him that the documentation she provided showing a date of birth and a résumé that agreed with her physical appearance were “made of steel.” 

Clark hears the unmistakable sound of someone arriving at super-speed.  It’s not long before he also hears Thea greeting Moira and whoever she brought back with her.  He hears the super-speeding a few more times and soon he can tell that he has a full house. Clark hears Thea greet her older brother enthusiastically and now he realizes that he didn’t actually take any time to so much as acknowledge his stepson’s presence in Kansas. 

Now all they need to do is wait for little Ryan who should be arriving home from kindergarten soon. 

He hears footsteps approaching his bedroom door. Quickly, he turns away before the door opens.  He has to fight the smile behind his lips as the smell of his wife’s vanilla perfume is still there underneath the stench of someone having been in a fire.

Chloe doesn’t say anything for a minute as Clark hears the door close behind her. 

“You left in a bit of hurry,” she says eventually. 

Yes he did.  He barely spent a minute showing how grateful he was that his wife and stepson were okay.  Then he grounds his daughters for having ditched their first day of high school.  It’s likely going to take a considerable amount of sweet-talking to get the principal to not be too harsh on them.  Why bother?  They should have been in school.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that I was too harsh on the twins?” asks Clark.

“For starters,” confirms Chloe.  “They did save your life.”

“They should have been in school,” snaps Clark.

“And I agree, but Clark they _did_ save your life,” Chloe reminds him.

Clark whips around and scowls at her.  His wife doesn’t shrink from his gaze, but rather fixes her own beautiful green eyes on him with equal ferocity that _he_ might just shrink from _her_.  “What, you think I shouldn’t have grounded them?” he asks harshly.

“I think that you should at least have talked it over with me; we never ground our children without discussing it first,” replies Chloe.  “Believe me Clark, I am as disappointed in them as you are for ditching school, but they _saved the lives you, me, and Johnny!_ ” she emphasizes.  “So, I think it isn’t asking too much to cut them a little slack.”

Clark scoffs.  “Of course you would be taking _their_ side.”

Chloe’s gaze turns dangerously cold as she lifts a warning finger.  “Don’t…you… _dare_ …make me the enemy here, Clark Kent.  I had enough of that when I was married to Oliver.”

Clark gapes at her.  It doesn’t happen too often, but sometimes Chloe will bring up the worse parts of her marriage to Oliver Queen when getting into arguments like this.  She also knows how much they hurt. 

“I am not Oliver Queen,” he whispers just as dangerously.

“Then start acting like it!” shouts Chloe so suddenly that Clark jumps.  “No one knew that Metropolis was going to get hit by a meteor shower, but we can either gripe about everything that’s happened or we can move forward.  Marty and Moira should have stayed in school, yes, but if they hadn’t they, Thea, and Ryan would have been orphans.”  After finishing her screaming, she breathes heavily. 

Eventually, she simmers down and tentatively takes a seat next to her husband.  Gently, she lays a hand on his shoulder.  “Clark, could it be that you are just upset because your daughters had to save your life?” she asks softly.

Clark closes his eyes as fresh tears form.  “Today Superman showed his face for the first time in five years and he panics, he doesn’t even think to just blast every falling meteor rock with his heat vision, and then he ends up becoming one of the countless victims from the meteor shower."

“Clark, you couldn’t have known that the meteors would have contained kryptonite,” Chloe reminds him.  “It sucks what happened, but everyone’s here now _because of our daughters_.”

Clark says nothing and his wife sighs.

“Clark, how did it feel wearing that suit again?”

He was not expecting that.  “What-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Please just answer the question,” Chloe requests imperiously.

Now Clark is sobbing.  “It felt wonderful,” he confesses.  “But does it matter?  No doubt the media will be all over the event and will be wondering ‘What’s happened to Superman?  Five years’ absence and this is what we get from the Man of Steel?’  I might as well have returned as an ostracized pop star making a lousy comeback.  And I even have the spandex.”

“Not all pop stars wear spandex, Clark,” Chloe reminds him dryly. 

She isn’t lying. Then again the people that Moira listens to who wear jeans and elaborate dresses are more underground at least in the U.S.

“I’m just not sure that I am mentally ready to be Superman again,” sobs Clark.  “What if people found out that Superman is in fact a father?  What if the twins aren’t careful and they end up being taken advantage of like I was around their age?  Actually, I think it might be worse because they might tie their abilities to Superman—to  _me_.  Not to mention, some might see their physical attributes and compare them to the Man of Steel.”

Chloe puts a stop to his rambling by pulling him into a hug.  Even Superman isn’t immune to heartache and his wife knows that the death of Kara hit him hard.  Among other things, it's made him that much more frightened of losing his family. At least Chloe's always there for him.  Clark Kent might be Superman, but at the end of the day, Chloe Sullivan, and their children are his superheroes.  He never realized just how lonely his life was until he married Chloe.  Not to say that Lois wasn't a superhero to him, but Chloe connected with him in so many ways.  She’s his best friend, his soul mate, his superhero. 

“All of that’s going to be very difficult, I agree, sweetie,” Chloe comforts.  “But how about we just go downstairs and remind our children how much you love them.  Show the twins that you are grateful that they saved your life.”

Clark nods softly.  “I guess I should wipe my eyes first; we wouldn’t want our kids to see that Clark Kent can cry.”

“At least you would be showing the girls how cute you are,” teases Chloe. 

That elicits a laugh out of Clark.  He pulls back from his wife and stands up.  His wife giggles as she accepts his proffered hand and helps her to her feet.  Together, the couple leaves the bedroom.

*******

 

Far off in the distance, a man watches with keen eyes and ears.  That yellow house is certainly bigger than he last remembers seeing it.  He almost smiles at what he sees through the walls of the house.  Five children, two of which who don’t look strictly biological on both sides, and there’s even the little son that he sees getting off of the large yellow truck that he remembers being referred to as a school bus.  The child makes his heart skip a beat. 

He remembers a time when he had such a son.  That son was taken away from him to early and the man he thought was his closest friend flatly refused to save him. 

For years, he wasted away in the Phantom Zone and this is what he comes back to?  Kal-El living peacefully with a beautiful wife—not the woman he thought he’d be with, but very beautiful all the same—and with children?  When he met the wife and a few of the children earlier when he pretended to be trapped inside that car, he had no idea that he had run into some of Kal-El’s family.  But then he saw the bracelet with the turquoise crystal set in the middle.  It confirmed everything.

He contemplates the elder child, the handsome, relatively tall blonde that introduced himself as Jonathan Sullivan-Queen.  Perhaps he could get to know the boy more.  He could even gain his trust somehow.  It’s worth consideration, but what about the rest of his family?

He should just set the whole house ablaze with his heat vision.

“I know what you’re thinking, Zod, but you’ll be wasting your energy,” says a voice behind him.

Zod whips around and comes face to face with a woman.  He observes her for a minute.  Blue all over, fingers that seem more like razor-sharp talons, red artificial-looking hair pulled back in an impossibly neat plait…it’s what’s on her forehead that catches his attention.  It’s the upside down triangle with the red crystals at each point that he saw when that strange portal was opened, destroying the Phantom Zone and releasing everyone within.

“Who are you?” he asks.

The blue woman smiles wickedly.  “My name is Indigo and if you want to hurt Kal-El, you’ll listen to me.”

 


	8. Chapter Seven

Following the events of what has been dubbed “Meteor Monday,” news has been covering two things:  the unprecedented meteor shower in Metropolis and the return of Superman.

Experts say that the meteor shower of Meteor Monday was worse than both the meteor showers of Smallville combined.  Hundreds of people were dead and thousands more injured and there wasn’t a hospital that was fully operational.  Anybody who could walk was mobilized in the effort for helping people who were stuck in bad situations and to help the injured receive the medical treatment they needed.  According to the news, as Thea read, help has been coming in from almost every part of the state and beyond.  Help had even been coming directly from Washington. 

Even Johnny and Tess have been pouring millions into the effort to mend the wounds and damages. 

Thea doesn’t even want to think about the damages as she tries to distract herself with today’s crossword puzzle.

For seven days straight, the front page of just about every paper in the Midwest it would seem has shown a panoramic photo of Metropolis—or at least what is left of it.  

At first glance, many of the high-rises of Metropolis, including the LuthorCorp building that was reestablished as the Metropolis branch of Sullivan-Mercer Tech, look like the Twin Towers on Nine-Eleven.  The structural integrity of many of the buildings was compromised and if it weren’t for Superman who blew out all the fires and made sure the structures were secure, many of them would likely have collapsed.

Then there is the whole thing regarding Superman.  The first day following Meteor Monday, the front page of the _Daily Planet_ showed a collage of some of the damages captured on camera including what was actually a very good picture of one of the falling meteors, and in the center of it all was a photo of Superman. 

**Meteor Shower Brings Back a Long Lost Hero**

That was the headline.  It was a mouthful but the paper quickly sold out.  Everybody wanted to know where Superman had been.  Some people had thought he’d died.  One day, the Kents and Johnny, who had come over for dinner, shared a smile when the idea was thrown out that he had simply settled down and started a family.  Some of those smiles quickly melted into scowls when one of the people on the talk show countered that idea by saying that Superman was about as likely to have a family as Lex Luthor was to have hair on his scalp. 

Thea likes to think of herself as a bit of a peacekeeper among the Kent children, but when she heard that, she was the one who crushed her glass.  Her mother might have reminded her that the person was simply ignorant, but that barely made it less infuriating. 

Actually, as a whole, the reception of Superman’s return has been less than positive.  Many agree that he poorly handled the meteor shower.  Not necessarily a lie, but he is rusty.  While it’s no surprise that many are demanding and even racing for an interview with the Man of Steel, people have been speculating that if it weren’t for the meteor shower, he might never have “come out of hiding” as one talk show host put it. 

Granted, Thea knows her dad was a bit reluctant to become Superman again.  She remembers sitting with her sisters in the barn one afternoon eavesdropping on their conversation in the house.

Being the one with superhearing, Moira was tasked with listening in on what was said and repeating it to them.  Little Ryan might have been there, but he’s too young to know that his father is a superhero.  Before he can know his dad is Superman, the little squirt needs to learn how to keep a deep, dark secret.

What the girls did hear was not pretty.  Their dad said that he didn’t want to put on the suit anymore.

Their mom called him a coward.  She told him that just because his comeback was less than up to par, did not mean he should just crawl back into his hole.

Their dad had countered saying emphatically that he was not in a hole. 

Their mom pulled out the big guns when she asked him how his parents and even Aunt Kara, his late cousin would say in regards to his decision.

Thea shared a gasp with her sisters at that.  Pretty soon, Moira winced and her ears began to bleed.  Their parents at screamed at them quit listening in on their discussion or else they would all be grounded.  Speaking of grounded, the mother had managed to talk their father into revoking the twins’ sentence, but let them off with a very stern warning not to be ditching school.  It was difficult enough trying to keep their punishment at school a detention when they were considering suspension or even expulsion.    

In terms of heroism this week, a lot of attention has been focused on Sullivan-Mercer Tech, or “SulMerc” as many have dubbed it over the years, and its CEOs Jonathan Queen and Tess Mercer.

Many eyewitness accounts show Johnny helping out with people all week and it wasn’t long before Tess arrived to assist.  Since Thea had nothing better to do, she volunteered to help out as well.  She does enjoy helping people, serving food to people and helping people get medical treatment, but between that and her chores at the farm, she felt swamped.  Every night, she found herself nearly inhaling her dinners and falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

Eventually, she got so stressed out that she lashed out at when she heard a lady say these words,

“Why did this happen to _us_?” she whined.  “It should’ve just happened to Smallville; it’s not like they don’t know how to handle a meteor shower.  For them it should feel like a typical crop-dusting.”

Hearing something so foul made Thea’s nostrils flare.  She doesn’t know too many people who use aerial applicants because of environmental concerns, but hearing something like that?  “Well then in that case this ‘crop-dusting’ wasn’t good enough because it missed a spot where you are concerned,” she snapped. 

The woman looked at Thea as if she had slapped her; other people around them, especially volunteers that Thea recognized from Smallville, applauded her.  Unfortunately, not everyone was so enthusiastic about her retaliation.  The person who was overseeing the incident quickly dragged her away, but they ran into Johnny who simply had her wait in the trailer he and Tess used for an office since the SulMerc Building, among many other buildings, were closed for reconstruction. 

Her family has admired how even in the wake of this event, Johnny and the head of the Metropolis branch of the company are doing everything they can to keep their employees working, or at least keep paying their salaries. 

Three hours later now, as she sits in the trailer waiting for Tess, Johnny, or even both of them, she’s still sulking over her actions.  At least she has a crossword puzzle.  An hour ago, she had a conversation with Aimee via Skype when the latter had called intending to speak with Johnny.

Thea likes to think that she has a good relationship with her sister-in-law.  Whenever she’s in town, Aimee tends to take her for a girl’s night out.  Aimee would love to be in town right now, but between her own job as Star City district attorney, and making sure someone is there when Riley finally comes out of the N.I.C.U., it is better that she stays in Star City.

Through their conversation, the two of them talked about how excited they were for Thea to be moving in with them next week.  Aimee joked that she would have to learn their house rules, but Thea reminded her that she had been to their house enough times to know the rules.  Thea learned that all the way out in Star City, people are gathering charity donations towards helping those devastated by Meteor Monday.

Aimee had to run, but she promised that she and Johnny had something fun planned for her when she got to Star City.

After that, Thea went back to her crossword puzzle.  As much as she enjoys all the thought it offers, it’s proving to be fruitless.  She hadn’t lost her temper since…the last time that she can remember losing her temper was sophomore year when she was harassed for being Clark Kent’s stepdaughter. 

She doesn’t like thinking about that.  Around that age, her classmates started to realize that she was the daughter of the late Oliver Queen and she was mocked because of it.  Thea doesn’t remember her biological father, so she never really mourned him, but that didn’t stop her from being curious.  The things she did find out about Oliver Queen, it made her wonder what her mother saw in him. 

Thea felt bad that Oliver Queen was orphaned at a young age and that he was marooned on an island for two years, but the other things—being a bully in high school, the numerous relationships, and her mother’s relationship with him began…it’s made Thea worry about how she might turn out as she grows older. 

She knows that her stepfather, Clark Kent, loves her with all his heart, but at the time, she felt like an outsider in the house.  Eventually, it came to a point that when her classmates started calling her “stray,” she just snapped.  She gave one of the richer girls in town a black eye.  Lucky for Thea, that particular rich girl was already a very misbehaved girl and as far as her father was concerned, she had it coming.

Ever since then, Thea has been trying very hard to keep her temper under control.  It certainly doesn’t help that Wendell is no longer around to help her process her anger like they always did for each other.    She just boiled down to being the “Kent girl.”  She might have been a beauty queen, but no one ever asked her out on a date and she never went to her high school dances. 

“How are you doing there, Skippy?”

Thea yelps, sending her newspaper flying.  She turns around just as Johnny catches her pen before it hits the ground.  She was so immersed in her crossword puzzle that she didn’t notice her older brother’s approach.

“God, Johnny!” she exclaims.  “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Her older brother smiles apologetically as he hands her pen and the fallen newspaper pages back to her.  Despite her agitation, Thea offers her brother a thoughtful look.  Given the whole event, Johnny didn’t wear anything fancy, so he’s just wearing a T-shirt and jeans and sneakers.  Good shoes for standing for several hours.  Thea can remember times when Johnny wore loafers for several hours and he was audibly complaining after a while.  He’s usually very good at dressing for the right occasions, but that day was a day that he wasn’t planning on standing a lot.

Right now, Johnny’s hair is coming undone so that his bangs are starting to fall in his eyes and for someone close to him like Thea, there’s a noticeable edge to composure.  She watches him as he goes slumps down into the chair behind the desk with a groan.

“How are _you_ doing there, Johnny?” asks Thea. 

Without getting up, Johnny reaches over to the mini-fridge and pulls out a can of soda.  He looks at Thea questioningly.  She smiles and reaches over as Johnny hands her a can of soda as well.

The door to the trailer opens again and they see the latest person to step into the trailer.  It’s Tess.  A few strands of her fiery hair are loose from its high ponytail.  She has that cold look about her that Thea recognizes from times when she saw Tess staring at someone who has annoyed her.

“Hiya, Tess,” Thea offers.

Tess smiles in her direction as she slumps down into the armchair across from her.  “Five million people in this city and it seems only the rudest ones come when we offer our help,” she laments.  “I narrowly missed some bitch throwing bowl of hot soup at me because I wouldn’t give her more.  There’s a reason why we rationed everything.”

At that, Thea gets up and closes the distance between them, laying a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. 

“Charity work sucks,” says Thea.

Tess and Johnny gasp and Thea just shrugs.  After sharing a look or two, laughter erupts between the three of them.

“Yes, sometimes it can,” agrees Johnny.

“Especially when dealing with a bunch of ungrateful people,” adds Tess.  “We come in with food, medical supplies, even blood donors and all we get are people badmouthing other places and complaining because we don’t have enough food for people to be greedy.”

“Their city just endured a meteor shower,” Johnny points out diplomatically.  “The three of us would probably be just as irritable if it was our homes that were left in ruin.”

Thea and Tess stare at him.

“But yes, some of these people should be a bit more grateful,” he adds quickly. 

The three of them fall back into silence, seething.  It’s been a long day and Thea doesn’t need to be an expert to know that Tess and Johnny have been running back and forth as much as she has, if not more.  They all need a break.

A thought comes up.  “When does this end?” asks Thea.

“A half hour,” replies Tess.  “Why?”

A smile spreads across Thea’s face.  “Are you two up for ice cream, on me?”

Tess shares a look with her brother as they give it a moment’s consideration.  Eventually, it’s Johnny who answers.

“Come to think of it, we haven’t exactly had the opportunity to properly do something together since we got here,” he says thoughtfully, if not a little apologetically.  “Besides, Tess and I were going to help you pick out a dress for tomorrow night’s charity ball.  It’d be nice of you to return to favor.” 

Thea gapes and Tess and Johnny only smile wider.  “Dress?  For me?”

Johnny puts a finger to his lips.  “That stays between the three of us; the twins can gripe about it later.”

A smile spreads across Thea’s lips.  “So, somewhere in Metropolis or Smallville?”

“We were thinking somewhere a bit more West Coast,” replies Tess with a tempting smile.

Thea’s excitement was only making her tremble, but something did concern her.  “What about…?”

“Mom and Dad already know,” Johnny informs her.  “So what do you say, Skippy?  A trip to Star City and back before tomorrow morning?”

A smile bigger and truer than any she thinks she’s felt in a long time spreads across her face that her cheeks begin to ache.  “What are we waiting for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the comics, the population of Metropolis is eleven million people, but I felt that that would be demographically strange for a city in the Midwest as portrayed in Smallville. 
> 
> Hope everyone's enjoying this so far even this has become a little slower than I intended.
> 
> Also, I changed the name of Clark's son to Ryan after his late friend who could hear people's thoughts.


	9. Chapter Eight

"Chloe, sweetheart, you're going to make us late," cautions Clark, staring at his watch.  Normally he wouldn't be this anxious for time, but this is one of those occasions where he feels that flying to this charity ball hosted by his stepson would be improper. Plus, Thea and the twins were invited to attend.  Thea is with Johnny and Clark only has two arms and even then, it's quite uncomfortable flying with more than one person.    He accepted Johnny's offer to send a limo.  Bit flashy even for Johnny, but even he takes advantage of some of the privileges that being rich has to offer. 

Even though the twins were invited, there is the was the issue of little Ryan.  They needed someone to babysit him and they would've decided which of the twins would babysit him on a coin toss, but Johnny provided someone.  Clark and Chloe were very apprehensive at first for obvious reasons having a half-Kryptonian son, but they spoke to him.  The the person coming to babysit Johnny is actually somebody that they know.  So, at least they are putting their son in the hands of somebody they trust.  It also frees them from causing any contention between the twins.  They have had to decide on things like that before and to this day they can never reach a decision without the twins getting upset.

"Clark, we are going to be fine," Chloe reassures from the other side of the bathroom door.  Clark remains unconvinced.  He also has his back to the door lest he gives in to the temptation to peak in on his wife to catch in a state of semi-undress or an early glimpse of the dress that she refused to let him see.  Even with his best pout, he couldn't even get her to even see the box it came in!  

"Chloe you know how long of a drive it is to Metropolis and--"

"--and I am paying close attention to the time; we'll be fine."

Clark doesn't voice it, but this feels so ironic.  Chloe among many other people always tease him for somehow being late for things when he can keep up with the speed of light and now  _she's_ the one that is going to make them late.  He's capable of being punctual sometimes.  He likes to think that being a father has had a positive impact on his punctuality.  He shifts from one foot to the other, staring down at the limo parked in from of his house where the driver is waiting patiently.  That man seems more patient than he is.  He checks his watch again.  

"That's it Chloe, either you come out or I am coming in," he threatens.  "One, two, three, four..."  He hears the door open.  He whips around and what he sees leaves him dumbstruck.  

"Impatient much?" asks his wife with a smile, offering him a slow twirl.  

Clark feels like toddler, illiterate and not knowing how to form words.  His wife is clad in a greyish white A-line halter gown with a plunging neckline and black straps that crisscross in the back.  Her back is very visible, with dress barely covering any skin above her waist in an upwards V to mirror the neckline in front.  Her hair has an elegant ruffle to it with her bangs in a careful sideswipe, ever so slightly obscuring her eye.  Usually with formal events like this, she does more with her hair, putting it in some sort of elegant updo, but he likes the simplicity of what she did with her hair.  She also has long earrings dangling from her ears that nicely match the Kryptonian bracelet on her wrist.  

"We've been married for sixteen years, have known each other since we were fourteen, and you still full of surprises," Clark eventually gets out without stammering once.  

Chloe smiles as she closes the distance between them, settling her hands around her husband's neck.  "It not about surprising you; but do enjoy reminding you that your wife is a beautiful woman."

Clark raises an eyebrow.  "Mrs. Kent, are you getting pretentious?"

She shrugs.  "What can I say?  Mr. Kent tends to have that effect on me."

"Hmm, he sounds like a bad influence."

"You're damn right, he is," Chloe whispers huskily.  She reaches up, her eyes fluttering shut.  Clark takes the hint and bends down to close the distance...

"MOM!  DAD!  It's time to leave!" comes Marty's voice accompanied by a loud knocking.  Would it really be too harsh to ground his daughter for interrupting his moment with her mother?  Before their lips even touched?   

Clark and Chloe share a groan.

"Rain check on that?" he whispers to her.

Chloe nods stiffly.  "Yeah."  It's been months since they made love, much less had more than a few minutes together.  Clark knows that his wife wants that to change just as much as he does, if not more.  

They detach from each other and straighten themselves up.  After clearing their throats, they walk towards their bedroom door side by side.  They stop a couple of feet short from the door and Chloe clears her throat.  Clark gives her a questioning look and she gestures towards the door.  Smiling, he reaches forward and opens the door for her.  On the other side are the twins.  Marty is wearing a pink gown with a tight skirt save for a slit level with her hip.  Moira is wearing a thin-strapped black gown with a mostly flat neckline save fore a small V in the middle of her chest dipping low enough to show the hills of her breasts.  

Clark doesn't pretend to know much about women beyond the personalities of those close to him, but he thinks it's safe to say that his daughters' breasts will continue to develop for a while.  Chloe's body has changed a bit as she grew older.  He still thinks it's funny that during her first pregnancy--with Johnny--she complained about stretch marks, but after seeing her in a bikini, it seems they can have as many children as their hearts desire and she'll never have stretch marks.  After each of their mutual children were born, it wasn't long before her body went back to looking like a woman who never had children.  

"Are we ready to leave?" asks Clark.

"As we'll ever be," replies Moira.  Clark knows that the only reason she agreed to go to this "stupid event where rich people use charity as an excuse to play dress-up and drink expensive champagne when have of them couldn't give a damn about people with lesser financial means" as she phrased it, is the opportunity to see her elder brother, Johnny.  To tell the truth, since retiring from journalism, Clark could say the same.  He probably would be having a popcorn and movie night with his children after they finished their homework if it weren't for the fact that Johnny and Tess are the hosts.  

"Well then let's go," he says to his favorite women in the whole world.

The twins link arms and head out ahead of their parents.  At least this is one of those evenings where they chose to get along.  Clark isn't sure he has the patience for their bickering at this time.  

Clark shares a look with his wife.  She smiles up at him and they walk out together. 

***

Jonathan stands on the balcony of the venue, staring down at the people who have turned up.  It isn’t the Ace of Clubs which is one of the places currently undergoing renovation from the effects of Meteor Monday, but it’s as good a place as any for this kind of even.  The checkered granite floor is hard to see at times through the monotony of tuxedoes and color explosion of gowns and decorated hair.  On one end is a circular bar, not as flashy as the Ace of Clubs, but classy like something from a 1940s film.  On the other end, a pop rock band of five plays on a raised platform. 

Jonathan doesn’t personally care too much for their music, but he figured they were a better choice than some of the underground bands he listens to.  Plus, they are Thea’s favorite band and he owed her a favor for making her endure all those rude people the other day.  To say she was thrilled would be an understatement and she looked a bit cartoonish when he watched her disappear into the crowd earlier.   

There are only a handful of them that he knows by face and even fewer by name.  He recognizes a few of Metropolis’s socialites.  A few of them have approached him and introduced themselves.  He never bothered committing their names to memory.  Not if he didn’t think he was going to be seeing them on a frequent basis.  None of his public outings are complete without a woman or two approaching him. 

He does his best to be polite and brief, but he can’t help feeling how pathetic it is.  He’s happily married to a beautiful woman, a district attorney, and yet some people completely disregard that.  Sometimes he looks back and remembers women flirting with his late father, Oliver Queen.  As far as Jonathan knows, his father never once cheated on his mother.  He always thought that his father lived under the threat of physical harm from Clark Kent if he dared cheat on his mother. 

Then again, Jonathan knows that his father once dated his mother’s cousin, Lois Lane.  He knows when the people in his life are lying to him and he believed Lois when she told him that Oliver Queen never cheated on her. 

Either way, Jonathan has only ever had eyes for Aimee Marek-Queen.  He gave dating Tess a shot, but in some ways she feels more like the sister he never had.  Aimee couldn’t get out of work for this charity event, but he’s hugely grateful that Tess is here with him.  He’s not sure he’d be able to make it through this event without screw-up without her. 

“Johnny, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to figure out how to set these people on fire with your eyes,” drawls a familiar voice from behind him.

In spite of himself, Jonathan smiles.  “I’m not a Kryptonian, Tess,” he reminds her as she joins him at the balcony.  He takes a minute to take in her attire.

Her red hair, always so perfect, is draped around her shoulder in an elegant curtain of curls and glitter.  Black diamond earrings dangle from her ears on long silver chains to compliment the minimal light grey eye shadow and long black nails.  The deep satiny redness of her figure-hugging dress with one shoulder almost seems like an extension of her hair and contrasts quite nicely with her pale skin.  Jonathan knows quite a bit about dresses and he’s glad that her skirt is loose enough that she can walk without having to take small steps.  He also wonders why she hasn’t found herself a man yet.

He notices that she caught him staring at her.  And his eyes return to hers to find her giving him a strange look.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You keep staring at me some of the people here might think we’re having an affair,” Tess warns, playfully.  People have been speculating—falsely—that they have been having an affair for a few years now.  Sure, why not?  The CEOs of Sullivan-Mercer Tech engaged in an ongoing affair when they never kissed or even did anything beyond that was platonic.  Sure they hug, they grab coffee, see a movie, but aren’t best friends allowed to do that?

People will print what they think will sell.

“Well then, shall we join our guests, _lover_?” offers Jonathan, extending his arm.

Tess giggles as she wraps her hand around his elbow.  Jonathan knows just how cold and hard she can be when it comes to business or dealing with someone who has crossed her, but he’s glad that for as long as she has had a real body, he could get her to relax and smile with him.  To show that underneath that cold exterior with the same haunts left over from the original Tess Mercer is a woman. 

He also has faith that she’ll find herself a man who will cherish her the way that she deserves.  However, the clone that the mind of Tess Mercer was put into doesn’t age at a normal human rate.  Jonathan refuses to invest any time or effort into the cloning business, but from what he knows, when it comes to the bodies used for cloning, the aging is slowed almost to a standstill.  The purpose is that for all the clones that still exist, many of them are still empty templates that have yet to be given the genetic material of someone.  Like a bunch of machines waiting to be given a purpose. 

As a result, in the years that have passed since Tess was given a real body when he was sixteen, she has barely aged more than a couple of years or so.  It does comfort him that at least one of his friends will be sticking around with him for a long time.  It would be nicer if his wife aged slower.

Immortality, or at least having an extended lifespan, sucks.

Tess and Jonathan reach the bottom of the stairs and are almost immediately approached by socialites and photographers.  Jonathan knows his best friend is as glad as he is that the press weren’t allowed into the event itself.  They wouldn’t give him a moment’s rest otherwise.

Among the people who approach them is the mayor of Metropolis.  She thanks them in earnest for their efforts in rebuilding the city as well as bringing in legions of medical personnel to assist as the hospitals that are functional are filled to capacity and running low on supplies. 

“It’s the least we can do, Madam Mayor,” says Jonathan with a smile.  It’s a genuine smile too.  He has a smile that he reserves for functions like this or when addressing people that he doesn’t know nor care about, but this isn’t one of them. 

The mayor leaves them and Jonathan shares a smile with Tess.  A waiter approaches them with glasses.  One of them is a ginger ale for Jonathan.  He never acquired a taste for alcohol.  The two accept the glasses and clink them.

A few other people approach them.  Some of the people, Jonathan remembers having disagreements with in the past, bureaucrats who were more concerned with profit than pursuing ventures that might actually help people.  Jonathan’s philanthropic endeavors have earned him considerable respect, but it has also earned him a few enemies as well.  There are plenty of businesspeople who refuse to make a deal with him.  Tess is a lot better at negotiating deals than he is, but she’s not always able to form a deal either.  Even so, SulMerc has risen to become a respected company.

It certainly helps that they have struck a partnership with Wayne Enterprises. 

Speaking of which,

“Jonathan Sullivan-Queen,” says a grave, elderly voice behind him.

Jonathan and Tess turn around and their eyes fall upon Bruce Wayne.  Slightly stooped with age and his silvery white hair slicked back, Jonathan feels that he looks pretty good for his age. 

“Bruce Wayne,” Tess and Jonathan acknowledge as one.  In turn, Mr. Wayne kisses the back of Tess’s hand and shakes Jonathan’s hand. 

 Mr. Wayne takes a moment to observe the crowd, his expression unreadable.  “This is quite the turnout, Sully,” it feels like a compliment and sounds like an observation.

“Oh, Brucey, cut the kid a break,” scolds another voice. 

Jonathan’s smile widens as he sees his mother’s cousin, Lois.  She looks even better for her age considering she’s in her sixties.  It looks to Jonathan like she’s been dying her hair.  He could tell her that she doesn’t look so bad with greyish hair, but he also knows how upset she can get being reminded that she’s growing older.

“Aunt Lois!” he steps forward into her arms. 

“Johnny,” Lois greets back.  “Are Tess and Aimee keeping little Queen out of trouble out on the West Coast?”

Jonathan steps back and glances at Tess who offers him a considerate look.  “We’re trying to.”

The way she says it, followed by that rare sweet, toothy smile of hers makes Jonathan want to stick his tongue out like a five-year-old.  Maybe later at a time when he’s just surrounded by people he actually cares about. 

He decides to change the subject.  “Has anybody my mother and…”

“Johnny!”

Jonathan whips around and is almost knocked over by two very beautiful—and very strong—young ladies with raven hair and pale skin wrapping their arms around him. 

“Moira, Marty,” he squeaks, “this guy needs to breathe.”

Immediately, they detach themselves from him. 

“It’s nice to see you when you’re not covered in smoke and ash,” says Moira.

“Where’s Thea?” asks Marty, not even addressing Jonathan. 

Now he’s curious as he scans the crowd.  Eventually, he finds her out on the balcony.  He hadn’t seen her all evening, but he’s glad to see her wearing the green strapless gown with her golden hair in a half-up half-down do.  “Tell you what, girls, why don’t you two go and offer her some company.”

The twins smile knowingly and Jonathan watches them until they step outside.  He can’t hear them, but it looks like their approach is going well as they join Thea on either side of her.  Thea looks at them both and Jonathan smiles as he sees her shaking in what he knows to be laughter. 

“They really are good to each other, aren’t they?”

Jonathan turns around again and sees his mother and stepfather, both looking as exquisite as always.  He smiles as he meets his mother halfway in a hug and then shakes Clark’s hand.  Even today, he has trouble remembering to not address them as “Mom” or “Dad” in public.  It’s a pesky little complication, having a mother and stepfather who look his age.  He can only address them in what he considers to be their respectful titles within closed doors.

In public, they are just a couple of farmers from Smallville that Jonathan is on first-name bases with.

“Clark, Chloe, it’s good to see you both,” Clark not as much, but addressing his mother as Chloe just puts a bad taste in his mouth.  It’s like he’s just spitting on the fact that she’s his mother.  And God knows that Clark has earned the title of “Dad” over the years.   

“It’s great to see you too, Johnny,” says Clark.  “And Tess…”

Jonathan and his mother watch as the old friends embrace each other. 

“Staying good to my cousin, Smallville?”

Clark and Tess break their embrace and everyone watches as Clark locks eyes with his ex-fiancée.  Jonathan knows that Aunt Lois has been quite happy with Bruce Wayne over the years, but he also never thought that there would cease to be any tension between her and Clark.  The whole destiny nonsense somehow saw them being an epic item, but all they got out of it was a string of cancelled weddings and misplaced affection.  Why should people base their decisions on whatever destiny lays out for them?

Maybe one future saw Clark Kent and Lois Lane together, but from what everyone has told Jonathan, all he can think is that it was a rushed romance.  The romance between Clark and his mother is a romance that had all the chemistry and all the feelings there and he exists because they were never acted upon.  His parents loved each other once upon a time, but their relationship eventually crumbled even before Oliver Queen’s death. 

He just thinks it’s too bad that it took so long for Clark Kent and his mother to find each other.  But if they hadn’t waited, he wouldn’t have existed.  Clark has told him about a time when he accidentally sent himself to a reality where he never existed and it wasn’t pretty.  What repercussions would there be if Jonathan Sullivan-Queen hadn’t existed? 

He would rather not find out.

“It’s good to see you, Lois,” says Clark. 

“You too, Clark,” replies Lois.

They smile at each other, but they don’t touch.  Discreetly, Jonathan shares a look with his mother and with Tess.  Some days Clark and Lois are like brother and sister bickering up a storm and then giving each other playful nudges.  Other days, they are like soap opera characters having been through a bad breakup.  Jonathan voiced that once with his mother and Tess behind closed doors and they shared a laugh over it.  His mother even added that maybe they should have their own TV show together.  That just made everyone laugh harder.

Jonathan breaks the silence.  “Okay, so how are things going in Smallville?”

Everyone seems quite happy with the change of subject and his mother is the one to speak as she links her arms around her son’s elbow and leads him towards the bar. 

Jonathan listens intently as his mother tells him how the people of Smallville have been putting together a relief fund for victims of Meteor Monday.  The farming community had been banding together, rationing their late summer harvests and sending truckloads of crops to Metropolis.  The students at Smallville schools have been encouraged to offer loose change and the younger ones have been putting together get-well postcards for victims they might know. 

Jonathan has heard similar stories from other places in Kansas and all he can do is admire the effort people are putting into helping people they don’t know.  It always amazes him how such times of tragedy can prompt people to set aside all pretenses of animosity and simply be human, to offer a little bit of what they have for people who might have lost their homes and loved ones. 

“Anybody being negative about it?” asks Jonathan.

His mother exclaims in disgust as she accepts a glass of champagne.  “Some religious fanatics are saying that it’s God’s punishment for harboring an alien for so many years.”

Jonathan shakes his head.  “What problem do people have with Superman?” he knows it’s rhetorical.  “He did nothing but help people and yet chauvinism has its grips on people like a nasty flu.”

His mother shrugs.  “People can be ignorant.”

“What are people so ignorant about?”

The two blondes whip around and see the tall figure that Jonathan recognizes as Chris Zodiac.  This time he’s in an all-black tuxedo. 

“Mr. Zodiac,” greets Jonathan, extending his hand.  “You’re looking well.”

Mr. Zodiac—if that is his name, which Jonathan doubts—grasps his hand and shakes it.  “It takes more than a wrecked car to keep me from attending a charitable function.  And you, I don’t believe I caught your name the other day.”

Jonathan looks at his mother and…frowns.  Someone who didn’t know her very well wouldn’t catch it, but he sees a certain amount of apprehension in her gaze. 

“Chloe Kent,” she introduces herself.

“And I must say you are looking quite lovely this evening,” compliments Mr. Zodiac as he kisses the back of her hand.  To Jonathan, it looks as if his mother felt something very vile touched her. 

Is there history between them?

Mr. Zodiac clears his throat.  “Well, I’m afraid I must excuse myself; my business partner has arrived and I must speak with her.”  He seems quite old-fashioned as he inclines his head towards both of them and walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

Jonathan can’t take it anymore.  “Okay, Mom—Chloe—what’s wrong?”

His mother still stares after Mr. Zodiac.  “Sorry, Johnny, that man just looks like somebody I used to know.”

By her tone, Jonathan figures that it’s best not to press the subject.  Even so, before he can consider it, much of the place erupts in whoops and exclamations, startling both him and his mother.  After exchanging a glance, they follow the gazes of the crowd towards the windows and gasp at what they see.

Superman.  The Man of Steel floating a few feet away from the balcony where Thea, the twins and some other guy that Jonathan doesn’t recognize but looks Thea’s age are standing. 

“Did you have something to do with this?” mutters Jonathan, without looking to acknowledge Aunt Lois’s presence. 

“I figured it might make for good press if the Man of Steel made an appearance at a charity ball such as this,” Aunt Lois mutters back.

“You could have told us first,” mutters his mother bitingly. 

Aunt Lois shrugs.  “That would have spoiled the surprise.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes and turns back around to glance at his mother.  He can tell that she’s proud to see Clark take up his mantle again, but there’s also a tremendous amount of worry lurking underneath her green eyes.  He knows because he had that same look when he knew something was horribly wrong.  But what could it be?

Jonathan scans the crowd until he finds Mr. Zodiac with a blonde woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to Kara.  They are staring up at Superman.  They don’t seem excited.  Instead they are looking at him almost like a meal.  Jonathan steals a glance at his mother again, then to his sisters, then to Superman, and finally Aunt Lois and Tess. 

He senses danger.  These people are his family and as he takes a sip of ginger ale, he promises himself that he’s going to protect them at all costs. 

If Clark Kent can become Superman again, maybe it’s time for the Purple Arrow to rise from the ashes as well.

 

 


	10. Chapter Nine

Clark has to be honest; he was not expecting such an enthusiastic reaction to showing Superman to this crowd.  Lois had dragged him aside and told him that after his fiasco with the meteor shower, it might be good if Superman showed up to a charity function. 

He was skeptical, but he rushed home and changed into his suit anyway.  Discreetly, he eyeballed his family.  His daughters and stepchildren looked quite surprised, but soon they were beaming silently.

“I love you, Clark Kent,” whispers his wife.  Still floating above the balcony, through the mist of camera flashes and whoops, he sees Chloe sitting by the bar with his stepson.  She has that signature big smile of hers and even Johnny, whose smile looks just like hers, is smiling too.

If she had superhearing, he’d whisper how much he loves her back.  Gracefully, he descends to the balcony.  He has to fight from eyeballing the dark-haired young man that he saw flirting with Thea earlier.  That’s one thing that makes being Superman incredibly difficult—remembering to not be a father in public, at least not when he’s wearing the tights.  When they all get home however, he’s going to be grilling his stepdaughter about who this dark-haired young man is. 

When he reaches the balcony, the dark-haired young man locks eyes with him.  He looks young enough that he would only have been a child when Clark hung up the cape.

“You-you’re Superman,” he says nervously.

Clark fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest or rise up to his full height in a more authoritative manner.  “Uh-huh, and you are?” he’d love to say, but he just goes with, “Nice to meet you.”

“Play nice, Daddy,” he hears Thea mutter too low for anyone else to hear. 

He locks eyes with her and she surreptitiously gives him a pleading look.  He sighs quietly.  There’s no harm in simply indulging his stepdaughter for a while.

“What’s your name?” he asks the young man as pleasantly as possible. 

“Terry,” replies the young man, extending his hand.  “Terry McGinnis.”

Clark fights the urge to address him as “Terry-Terry McGinnis” as he accepts his proffered hand.  Come to think of it, though, he thinks he recognizes the name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”  He walks off towards the doors leading into the building.  Some might think that it’s just him not wasting too much time with one individual—and that may be true to a certain degree—but the longer he lingers with this Terry McGinnis, the more the Superman façade will wear off. 

Some might consider Clark Kent to be a disguise for Superman, but Clark Kent himself would tell them that it’s the other way around.  Superman is the disguise that hides what he believes is a devoted father and husband.  Waste too much time with his wife or children in public and people might see right through the red and blue tights.  Clark’s steps halt for just a minute as he catches his hands instinctively moving towards his groin.  If he were to be literal, he would _definitely_ prefer that no one could see right through the tights.

As he enters the building, the reactions from the people in attendance are quite different from what he was expecting.  He was worried that by now, people would be jeering at him and rubbing his lousy efforts during the meteor shower in his face.  No, these people are parting like the Red Sea, creating a path for him and making him feel more like a deity than a washed-up superhero. 

The gesture from these people, the way some of them reach out just to touch him or say “Superman” like it’s a prayer, it reminds Clark of some of the stranger things he’s seen in his career as the Man of Steel.  He remembers finding shrines dedicated to him, or overhearing himself be the subject of sexual fantasies, or people trying to live vicariously through him in more or less dangerous manners.  In response, he’s heard religious folk denounce him as an idol, or some sort of demonic entity, or more ridiculously, the Antichrist.

Once or twice in his life, he had been told that he would be a rule this earth.  Lex Luthor once interpreted the prophecy of the cave drawings that the Naman figure with be the villain.  Was he really that wrong?  Then of course, there was Tess Mercer’s more compelling interpretation which personified Segeeth as Doomsday. 

Clark hates being worshipped.  He enjoys saving lives, but being worshipped like a god because of it, for his powers, it’s ridiculous. 

As Clark makes his way through the crowd, stopping every so often to speak to someone, he quickly realizes that some less enthusiastic people are whispering.

“My children are dead because of you.”

“The world was better off when you chose to disappear.”

“How can this ‘superman’ be here?”

“If this is a ‘superman,’ why is that Tess Mercer and Jonathan Queen are the ones making a difference?”

“He should have been able to stop that meteor shower before it even came.”

“What’s this _murderer_ doing at this event?”

Clark’s throat constricts and he has to fight from losing his composure.  He also has to fight the tears that gather up behind his eyes.  He can recall times when he has found himself wondering why he continues to save the lives of these ungrateful people. 

He sees Lois and his old friend, Bruce Wayne, and it triggers a few memories when Lois and Chloe had staged interventions in an effort to cheer him up.  Being friendly, Clark walks up to them. 

“Superman,” acknowledges Bruce with his hands atop his cane.  “It’s a real pleasure.”

Clark smiles and offers his hand.  As Bruce reaches out to grasp it, Clark is tempted to ask him how his and Lois’ son is doing as he hadn’t asked him yet, but that can wait.  He doesn’t want these people to get too deep of a glimpse at the relationship between him and Mr. Wayne.

He turns away from him and his eyes find Lois.  Her hair is a quilt of brown marred with grey and it doesn’t have that beautiful thickness it once had.  When she smiles, a bit of that youthful spunk that he used to love—still loves—shines through the creases of age.  Even with those creases, Clark thinks that the years have been quite kind to her. 

Lois Lane might not be the love of his life anymore—if at all as she’s convinced that she was a smokescreen to Chloe—but a part of him will always wish that they had broken up for good face to face instead of a leaving a letter and running to Africa.  The other part rationalizes that had they tried to break up face to face, it only would have prolonged their history of make-up/breakup and failed weddings. 

“I was wondering when you would pop up again,” says Lois.

Clark already exchanged greetings with Lois, but somehow, wearing these tights it feels like he’s saying hello to an old friend all over again.  So, in his most business, Superman-like voice, he says, “Lois Lane, it’s good to see you.”

Lois laughs.  “Don’t be so formal.”  Clark smiles nostalgically.  Lois—and even Chloe—often scolded and teased him over the years for how formal he can be when he dons the tights.  It’s an unconscious tendency of his.  If anything, it adds to the overall smokescreen, lest people see that Clark Kent and Superman are one and the same. Even Bruce Wayne has his own façade when he used to be Batman.  Clark never really agreed with the use of fear, but it worked for Bruce and it seems to be working for the new Batman.

“Superman.”

Clark turns around and comes face to face with this function’s hosts, Johnny and Tess.  In a moment of self-deprecation, Clark feels that they are the better public servants at the moment.  They have certainly made a tremendous effort.  It’s been awhile, but he’s done this rodeo enough times to know how to look like he’s meeting people he’s well-acquainted—to put it bluntly—for the first time. 

He has to fight back his amusement as Johnny straightens himself up and introduces himself.

“My name is Jonathan Sullivan-Queen and this is…”

“Tess Mercer,” Tess finishes.  “Johnny, how many times do I have to tell you that I am capable of introducing myself?”

“You mean between you and the missus?” Johnny fires back with that teasing grin of his that looks so much like his mother’s. 

The two best friend/CEOs stare each other down for a minute or two.  Clark exchanges a look with Lois.  She seems to be enjoying this as much as he, but…

“Ahem,” he clears his throat.

Johnny and Tess straighten themselves up and clear their throats.

“Sorry, Superman,” Tess apologizes.  “We just wanted to welcome you personally to this function.”

“Johnny?” the four of them turn their attention to the latest person to join the conversation.  Now Clark really has to put up his inhibitions.  Chloe Kent has joined them. 

“And who are you?” Clark asks as innocently as possible, but he thinks he failed somewhat.  He’s never been able to fully hide his appreciation for his wife.

            He can tell Chloe is having as much trouble as she smiles and holds out her hand.  “Chloe Sullivan-Kent.”

            Before Clark can stop himself, he takes the hand and plants a kiss upon it.  Chloe’s breath audibly hitches in her throat and for a minute, it seems that neither of them care that the little group is the center of most of the attention.  Her beautiful eyes flick downwards discreetly and Clark has never hated his suit more.  His suit is like an oversized condom or chastity belt serving as a painful reminder that public displays of affection are a big “no-no.”

            Thankfully, it’s Lois who saves the day.  “Little old-fashioned, aren’t you Superman?”

            Clark and Chloe detach in every way and Clark clears his throat.  “It doesn’t seem like the right occasion for a simple handshake.” 

He says it loud enough for the people staring to get the idea.  Suddenly, he gets a bad taste in his mouth as a grimace fights its way into his feature.  Did he just give the ladies in this place permission to come up to him hoping for a similar exchange?  A good number of the men seem to be keeping their ladies a little closer than normal.

Clark exchanges a look with everyone.  He’s feeling that it’s time for Superman to call it quits for the evening and for Clark Kent to return.  Subtly, they all nod and Clark weaves his way through the throng of well-dressed people towards the balcony.  As he nears it, Thea and the twins rush past him. 

Following suit of a few others, he watches until they disappear in the crowd.  He’s going to have to ask them what the matter is.  His gaze returns to the balcony and he sees Terry McGinnis.  Clark focuses his superhearing for a minute and hears,

“Was there something I said?” Terry mutters.

Clark growls quietly as he closes the distance between himself and the balcony.  Paying Terry McGinnis no heed as he steps onto the balcony, he shoots into the sky.  He wish he could just do something to him without letting everyone—or at least his wife and children—know that it was his doing.  Maybe the girls won’t care, but Clark figures he should at least get the story out of them first.

He’s just about to head to the place on the roof where he his clothes, when he spots something down below.  Focusing his telescopic vision, he sees a group of people with guns and duffle bags wearing…Superman costumes with red ski masks entering the mostly intact Metropolis National Bank.  Rolling his eyes, Clark sets the folded clothes down again and shoots down towards the bank.  On a bright note, he hopes that this will shed Superman in a better light after the events of Meteor Monday.

Stopping a few hundred feet from the entrance, he takes a moment to assess the situation.  Using his x-ray vision, he lets out a sigh of relief, seeing that no one’s been shot yet.  A few shots were fired into the ceiling and now the night crew on duty are being rounded up and placed in a circle in the middle of the lobby while one person is being forced to open the safe. 

All graceful pretenses on hold, Clark descends to the ground with a kind of force that once upon a time, people would see and know he meant business.  For a minute, he scolds himself for taking time to worry about leaving a crater the way he sometimes used to.  Then again, he’s trying to make a good impression here. 

He walks into the bank and crosses his arms and begins to pace.  “You know, I do many things, but robbing banks is not one of them.”  A friendly smile spreads across his lips as the Superman-clad perpetrators jump as if the boogeyman just waltzed into their midst. 

Clark stops pacing and eyeballs each of the would-be bank robbers.  “I am giving you guys this chance to walk away right now and we can all forget this ever happened.”  He’s trying the peaceful approach, but he does have a button on his belt that Chloe installed a long time ago that worked like a panic button.  All he had to do was press it—and he did—and the police wouldn’t be far behind. 

Instead, one of them shoots him.  Clark almost laughs, but there was something wrong with that bullet. Looking at his shoulder and then at the guy who shot him with wide eyes, all he can do is stare.  The man just shot him with a _kryptonite_ bullet!  How the hell did these morons come across kryptonite bullets? 

Clark thought that they had disappeared years ago from the black markets.  The feel of all his insides constricting overcomes him and it forces him to his knees.  The bank robbers laugh and Clark exchanges looks with the hostages. 

He did not come down here just to watch crime be committed in front of him.

Sobbing and hyperventilating against the pain, Clark rises to his feet again as he reaches into the bullet wound.  Now everyone is staring at him wide-eyed as, with a scream, he probes his wound until his fingers wrap around the bullet and yanks it out.  Tossing it aside with enough force to put a dent into the wall, Clark regards the robbers again.

Panting hard, these idiots should know by now that they are seeing something that not many have seen.  He is pissed off.  With a furious growl, stares hard at the gun in his shooter’s hands and a white-hot mark forms on it.  With a yelp, the shooter drops the melting weapon to the ground.  A few more bullets fly, but this time, Clark is prepared as he quickly dodges them. 

Going into superspeed, he goes to each of the robbers and breaks their guns in half as if they were pencils.  Not stopping there, he finds a roll of duct tape that it looks like they used to bind the hands of the hostages and, gathering up the robbers, he wraps it around them, binding them all together.  After that, he frees the hostages from their bonds.  He finishes just as the police arrive and he lifts the tied-up robbers with one hand and drags them out the door. 

He smiles warmly at the police officers.  “I guess some people are too lazy to obtain money through an honest day’s work,” or quite a few honest days’ work.  The officers all stare at him for a minute or two and then Clark feels a leap of joy as some of them begin to cheer.  A few of the officers come forward and drag the robbers away. 

One of the officers, one who looks like a police captain, comes forward.  For a minute the man just stares at him.  Clark follows his gaze and there’s the copious amount of blood surrounding the still-healing bullet wound.  Suddenly, Clark finds himself hoping that it doesn’t make for bad press as camera flashes begin filling his vision.  He always tried not to let it bother him, but his status as a supposedly invulnerable _creature_ as many writers have cruelly put it sometimes annoys him more than it makes him feel good about himself.  It’s that status that often makes him the subject of mockery when he is wounded. 

“Just a kryptonite bullet is all,” he explains shortly.  Not waiting to be interviewed, he shoots into the sky.  He makes sure he actually disappears before he returns to the roof of the SulMerc building.  He quickly changes out of his tights and returns to the party. 

Enjoying the anonymity of being Clark Kent, Clark releases the tension he hadn’t realized had been twisting him up into a knot as he enters the throng of people.  He slowly weaves his way through everyone, looking around.  Pretty soon, he finds Chloe sitting at a table with Johnny, Tess, and his children.  Chloe is the first to see him and she gets up to greet him.

Before he can stop her, she hugs him.  A sharp intake of breath pierces the silence between them as he winces against the bullet wound in his shoulder which is now just a vicious bruise.  Wounds from kryptonite bullets have always taken at least an hour to fully heal and disappear.  At least Chloe understood the wince for what it was.

Pulling away from him slightly, she asks, “What happened?” 

Allowing her to steer him towards the table, Clark answers, “Bank robbery; I got shot.”

Thea gapes, giving him a quizzical look that reminds him so much of Oliver.  “Your skin is tougher than steel; a gunshot shouldn’t…”

“It was a kryptonite bullet,” Clark cut her off glumly.  He closes his eyes as everyone at the table gasps. 

“How did they get their hands on kryptonite bullets?” asks Marty.

“There was kryptonite in that meteor shower, sweetie,” says Clark.  “Maybe some people got ahold of it and started manufacturing bullets and other weapons out of it.”

Johnny scratches his chin thoughtfully.  “Tess and I can speak to some of our contacts in the city; see if anyone knows about kryptonite being marketed.” 

“Don’t bother, Johnny,” Clark objects.

Everyone gapes again, but Clark keeps his attention on his stepson.  “You’ve done more than enough for this city already.  What I want you to do is give yourself a break.  Go home, take care of Aimee, and make sure Thea has a fun time before she buries herself in homework.  For that matter, I think you _and_ Tess ought to give yourselves a break.”

Johnny and Tess share a look and Clark can see just how wearied out they are.  Johnny’s love for coffee is nowhere near as bad as his mother’s addiction, but Clark can tell when he’s been on a coffee binge, fighting to keep awake and moving.  He sees the same weariness in Tess.  Eventually, they return their gazes to Clark.

“Maybe you’re right,” Johnny concedes.  “And since this being Thea’s last weekend before sentencing herself to a life with Aimee and I, what do you say I take her and the kids out?” 

“We’re not kids!” the twins protest.

Chloe is the one who speaks up.  “Oh, is that so?”  She shares a look with her husband.  “Well then, in that case, it’s time for you both to find a job so that you can move into your own places.” 

Clark makes no effort to hide his grin as the twins each offer their own reactions to that idea.  Moira grimaces and quickly sinks back into her chair.  Marty lets out a shriek so suddenly that everyone at the table jumps.  If they don’t make some sort of verbal objection, those reactions are enough to prove to Clark that they are not ready to be treated as adults…and everything that goes with it.

“That sounds like fun,” says Marty.  “Can we Mom?”

Chloe raises her eyebrows.

Marty rolls her eyes.  “ _May_ we?”

“Is all of your homework done for the weekend?”

“Yes, Mom,” replies Marty meekly.

Chloe scratches her chin thoughtfully.  “What do you want to do, Moira?”

Moira’s eyes wander as she gives it a moment’s consideration.  “I guess I could use a little bit of time away from the house.”

Marty squeals again and Clark wishes she’d be more considerate of her twin’s feelings as she buries Moira in unwanted hugs. 

“I’ll bring little Ryan over when I can,” says Clark.

Clark surreptitiously shares a glance with his wife.  Just as surreptitiously, she offers him a coy smile.  This could an opportunity to enjoy each other’s time. 

In every way they want.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note to Sky, I figure you would enjoy this little break from some of the angsty under(over?)tones. As always, enjoy.

Zod studies the man before him.  Man?  How could he call this lowlife a man?  He’s one of the few criminals that he remembers witnessing Jor-El prosecuting and sending to the Phantom Zone.  He was some Daxamite charged with selling stolen goods to the highest bidder on many intergalactic black markets. 

If there is one thing that Zod knows he and Jor-El would agree on—were he still alive—is their thought on Daxamites.  Slave owners and old fashioned idiots who couldn’t seem to figure out how to move on from a monarchal government, Daxamites were never spoken of in a positive light.  Long ago when Zod and Jor-El were young, Zod remembers hearing about some awfully heated arguments between the governments of both planets. 

Daxamites did not appreciate their people being prosecuted by Kryptonians.  Zod for one did not appreciate hearing about ambassador after ambassador “disappearing” or “dying” under tragic or accidental circumstances.  Fondly, he remembers a few campaigns he helped wage and win against Daxam.

Now here he is, back on Earth, with a Daxamite lowlife standing before him.

“Do you know why you are here?” he asks conversationally. 

“I don’t answer to Kryptonians,” the Daxamite spat.

Zod smiles warmly.  “Believe leave me, I take no pleasure it speaking to you either.” 

“Then why _am_ I here?” demands the Daxamite. 

Zod gets up from the worn sofa and walks up to the Daxamite.  Another thing they have in common is the displeasure of being here.  He hopes that it will change once that Indigo lady manages to complete a set of viable accounts and identities for them and his followers, but for now this sparsely furnished warehouse that has seen better days would have to do.  He doesn’t even have access to a television, which he has grown quite fond of. 

“It has come to my attention that someone has been selling weapons on the streets,” explains Zod as he begins to pace.  “More specifically, weapons made from Kryptonite.  It has also come to my attention that some of those weapons were recently used in an attempt on Kal-El’s life.  It seems awfully convenient that those robbers would choose a bank so close to where Kal-El and his family were attending party. ” He stops pacing suddenly and comes very close to the Daxamite.  

“You tried to set up Kal-El up to be killed,” Zod says quietly.  “I made it very clear when we got Earth that no one was to go near Kal-El or his family.”

“Which I did not,” says the Daxamite.

Zod smiles again.  “No you didn’t,” he agrees.  “But you seemed willing to help some human lowlifes hurt him.”

The Daxamite sneers.  “You didn’t say anything about what we did in our own time.”

Zod stares hard into the Daxamite’s eyes.  He could have his henchmen rip him apart right here and now, but…

Laughter bubbles out him, making everyone jump.  He begins pacing again as he cups his face, trying to contain his laughter.  “Typical Daxamite—opportunistic and woefully stupid.”

He stops pacing suddenly and in blinding movement, he draws his sword and swings at the Daxamite.  He might have just had him kneel before him first, but he isn’t too sure what it would have been like.  On one hand, having a Daxamite kneel before him would feel great, knowing that he was above some hooligan from Daxam.  On the other hand, it would have felt incredibly dirty.  Daxamites are scum and the thought of one kneeling before him felt like a dangerous insect wanting to kiss his feet. 

Zod watches as the severed head bounces along the floor before coming to a stop at the feet of the newly arrived Indigo.  Not offering her any attention, he observes his sword appreciatively.  If that metal from the Phantom Zone could hurt a Daxamite under a yellow sun, who’s to say that it couldn’t prove effective against a fellow Kryptonian?  Kal-El was never much of a fighter anyway—at least not when it’s a fair fight with someone of equal strength.

Zod regards everyone in the room.  “Take this as a lesson to all of you—no one touches Kal-El or his family.  And next time I find anyone distributing kryptonite weapons, your death will be much slower.”

Indigo scoffs.  “Why, is the great General Zod growing soft for the son of Jor-El?  Or does the fact that he has a little boy have something to do with it?”

Zod rounds on her and soon has her in a stranglehold.

Indigo’s smile grew bigger.  “I do like a man with a good squeeze.” 

Not letting the lump in his throat shine through, Zod squeezes harder as he leans in close.  “I couldn’t care less if Kal-El has a son,” he whispers dangerously.  “If anything, it’ll make it that much easier to destroy him.”  Much louder he says, “And I say again, anyone who touches his family will answer to me!”

He releases Indigo roughly and rounds on the people before him.  After eyeballing each of them, he says,

“Kneel before Zod.”

Immediately, everyone falls down to one knee with their heads bowed.  Strangely, for the first time in his life, no pleasure comes from the gesture.  For the first time, he thinks it might actually be a ludicrous gesture.  It’s become another part of the endless cycle that has been his life since he thought he was condemned to the Phantom Zone forever.

***

Clark hovers above the city, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  He carefully picked an altitude that would leave him invisible to the naked eye, but also where he wouldn’t accidentally come in the way of any aircraft.  He can think of a few near misses.  One of which actually required him to help guide the plane back on a safe course. 

He had just finished a daily fly-around.  It was one of his many routines back in his glory days as Superman.  It reminded him of times when he went by “the (Red-Blue) Blur” when he would listen to police scanners—which sometimes ruined movie nights with Chloe—or when he was in his crow’s nest on one of the city’s skyscrapers and he just listened in on all the mayhem.  He still listens to all that mayhem and it makes for some of his least favorite flights. 

It’s also one of those things that he wishes was easier on Moira.  As far as he can tell, she can hear just as well as he can, but being part human, it’s harder on her ears.  He loves her with all his heart, but it’s one of those things he finds himself blaming himself for.  Genetics are like a slot machine with many, many possible outcomes.  Sadly, Moira can’t activate her superhearing for long periods of time before her ears begin to bleed.  Her ears heal quite quickly, but that doesn’t make it less uncomfortable.

Sometimes, it makes him feel like a loyal guard dog waiting for something bad to happen.  Thankfully, he was able to get through this day without anything serious.  They are very rare, but there are some days when there are no fires and no significant robberies that require his attention.  He might be Superman, but he can’t be everywhere at once.  There’s no problem with letting the police do their job if they don’t really need his help.  It also encourages the people not to take him for granted.

Clark remembers at one point, cities like Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City all had the lowest ratings in police work due to interventions from their respective superheroes. 

These days, Clark does slow down enough for people down below to get a clear snapshot of him with their phones.  It seems the only people who really take photos with real cameras are photographers and people who go on sightseeing tours.

Clark’s ready to call it a day.  He’s also ready to savor a quiet weekend while his children are spending time with their elder brother, Johnny.  In some ways, the both of them are giving themselves a break.  Johnny and Tess have been working tirelessly, helping the victims of Meteor Monday and taking a weekend off to spend with the younger ones will be a good breather for them.  It’s a habit that Johnny blatantly inherited from his mother—spending tireless hours on a project nearly to the point of exhaustion.  The only difference is Johnny isn’t addicted to coffee.

Clark tears his gaze from the city and focuses his vision towards Smallville.  Specifically, towards the yellow farmhouse that is his home.  Once or twice, he has looked at the studio apartment he once shared with Lois.  The Watchtower still serves a purpose with the Justice League and still has accommodations for long-term stay, but that studio apartment? 

It wasn’t a place he lived to escape a mountain of grief; it was an effort to distance himself from a past that he foolishly felt was hindering him.  A hindrance he thought was keeping him from accepting his calling as a superhero.  It also might have been to please Lois since she never really felt at home in the country.

Now some twenty-something-year-old who attends evening classes lives there. 

The yellow farmhouse is his home and, if he’ll be honest, it always will be.  He shoots himself towards that house, breaking the sound barrier on the way.  One of the nice things about his home is the relative seclusion and he is able to walk into his house wearing these tights without the wrong people seeing him. 

He arrives at his house and descends in an airplane-like motion until his feet touch the ground.  As he walks up to the house, he realizes he could really use a bath.  Not a shower; today he just wants a bath.

Entering his house, Clark basks in the silence.  He loves his children, but the lack of hearing them shout at each other, Marty playing video games when she’s finished her chores, and Ryan bouncing all over the place, that weight he never realizes he’s carrying around goes away for a little while.

“Chloe, you home?” Clark calls out.  No answer.  Shrugging to himself, he heads upstairs to his bathroom.  He stops at the door for just a minute to allow his shoulders to rise and fall.  With a heavy sigh, he opens the door.  As he steps inside, he halts at the sight before him.

The bathtub is full of bubbles and steamy water and within…

“Hi, Clark,” greets Chloe with a broad, toothy smile.  Her hair is tied up with a few hairclips and—to his disappointment—all he can see above the bubbles are her arms and shoulders with only the beginnings of the hills of her breasts.  The Kryptonian bracelet and the jewels of her rings—sometimes he wonders if it would have been more special if he had proposed to her with his mother’s ring instead of presenting it to her at the wedding—glisten with a twinkle through the steam. 

Even as his tights become a bit tighter below his waist, Clark crosses his arms.  “What are you doing, Mrs. Kent?”

Chloe’s face falls as she shrugs.  “Oh, I don’t know; I thought I was simply enjoying a bath.”

“Surely you must have known that I was planning on taking a bath when I got home?” asks Clark.  The tightness in his crotch is becoming more and more painful by the second.  The tights show all and his reactions to his wife are no exception. 

“Superman isn’t the only one who has had a hard day’s work,” Chloe reminds him defensively. “I’ll take a bath whenever I want.”

Clark almost laughs at the petulant tone of her voice, making her sound like spoiled child.  He would never say this to her, but it reminds him a bit of that time she was possessed by that prom queen wannabe, Dawn Stiles.  Not his favorite among the people who have possessed his Chloe, but she looked gorgeous.  It is also one of those days he wishes he could change.  Had he known then who he belonged to, or if he had the willpower to see past his crush for Lana Lang, he would have danced with Chloe.

“Well then we have a problem,” says Clark.  Chloe raises an eyebrow.  “I want to take a bath and you don’t seem to want to get out of the bathtub.”  He shrugs.  “Oh well.”  He closes the distance between him and the bathtub and steps into it with his tights still on, causing some of the water to spill over.

“Clark, how am I am going to get those tights off of you now?” Chloe complains through her giggles.

“You’re an investigative reporter,” Clark replies as he settles against his wife, pinning her shoulders with his hands.  “Investigate.”  His lips slam down on Chloe’s lips and Clark forgets all about being a father, a farmer, a superhero, leaving only a man devoted to his wife.

Chloe returns his kisses with equal ferocity as he frees her shoulders just enough to allow her to tangle her hands in hair.  He’s missed this so much.  The feel of the insides of her mouth, of her soft, clever tongue invading and retreating from the depths of his own mouth…for a minute he almost wants to ground the children who will still be living at home next week for a month for keeping him from this.

Chloe’s soft, beautiful breasts press against Clark’s torso and he finds himself regretting getting into the tub with his suit still on.  He wants to feel his skin against hers.  At the same time, he thinks he’ll enjoy watching Chloe as she struggles to tear it off of him. 

Within the tub, Clark feels Chloe’s bare legs lift up into an arch as she squeezes him against her with her thighs.  For such a small woman, she’s very strong—at least where he is concerned. 

Stars dance behind Clark’s closed eyes as his and Chloe’s kisses become more and more intense.  Not just that, but Clark realizes he is rubbing up and down against his wife’s sex.  Each rumble against her shaven crotch elicits a deep moan out of the both of them, bringing their building orgasms to a harmonic crescendo.  Normally, Clark doesn’t like to come while wearing his suit, but this afternoon, he doesn’t care. 

It starts slow, but soon Clark and Chloe are rubbing against each other faster and faster and their kisses become wilder.  At last, Chloe takes a fistful of Clark’s hair and lifts his head away from hers.  Clark’s eyes lock with the green depths of his wife’s eyes. 

“Chloe…” Clark growls.

Through gritted teeth, Chloe throws her head back as she screams, “YES!  YES!  COME FOR ME SUPERMAN!”   

Despite his best efforts, Clark throws his head back as he erupts in screams of his own to meet his wife in hot counterpoint as they come gloriously.  It takes them both several minutes to as much as see past the beautiful afterglow. 

When Clark’s vision swims back into focus, he locks eyes with his wife.  Before he can really enjoy the sight of her though, his ears pick something up.

Slowly, laughter rumbles out from deep within his chest. 

“What?” asks Chloe as she cocks her head at him.

“I…I think…I think we scared the entire chicken coop,” Clark finally gets out with a serious look. 

Chloe gapes up at him as her eyes narrow.  Soon though, they no can no longer contain their laughter as giggles rumble out of them. 

“I keep telling you, Clark, you’ve made a screamer out of me!” admonishes Chloe as they settle on the opposite side of the tub with her back against his chest. 

“Uh, excuse me, I believe it’s _you_ who’s made a screamer out of _me_ ,” Clark argues, tickling his wife.

“Clark, stop it!” she squeals through her uncontrolled laughter. 

“I didn’t hear any nice words,” Clark reminds her in a singsong voice.

“Oh, Clark, you little—!” she squeals again as he tickles her more.  “Okay, okay, okay, puh…puh…”

“Yes?”

“Please stop tickling me!”

Clark considers it for a minute.  Maybe he should stop torturing his Chloe so much.  “So,” he begins, trailing gentle patterns into his wife’s belly with a delicate finger, “are you ready to go again, or should I just go make us some lunch?”

In response, Chloe twists around and props herself up on her knees, putting her wet and sudsy breasts level with his eyes.  She leans in so that her lips are right against his ear and he feels himself hardening even worse than before.  “I want you inside me,” she whispers with a deadly hiss. 

Now Clark’s burgeoning erection is agonizingly painful as Chloe takes his arms and places them on the edges of the tub.  He’s so turned on, so ready for her, that he can’t even bring himself to laugh as she begins struggling to peel off the now very wet—and probably very heavy—suit from his body. 

The whole process feels like it took about ten or fifteen minutes, during which Clark’s erection only grew worse and the bathwater lost some of its heat.  Finally, Clark is bared before his wife and he feels a little ego boost as she observes him appreciatively.  He also sees her shiver a little.  Now that he’s taken the time to notice. The water has lost more of its heat than he realized. 

With a coy smile, Clark stares at the water and a controlled amount of his heat vision erupts from his eyes.  Soon the water is bubbling with the heat of a hot tub.  Satisfied with his handiwork, Clark looks back up at his wife. 

“Showoff,” she mutters. 

Clark just shrugs and leans into the water.  He watches, mesmerized, as Chloe picks up his lump of bar soap and begins delicately running it against his skin.  Although very focused on her handiwork, her eyes never leave his.  In turn, Clark’s eyes never leave hers and there’s nothing that can come between their locked eyes.  Soon, the hand with the soap in it disappears beneath the water and Clark moans at it teasing his swollen erection. 

He wants so desperately for her to offer it more attention, to give him the release he needs, but he can tell Chloe is on a mission.  He feels the path of the bar soap all over his body and he recalls all the times he’s made her stand still while he took his time washing her body.  Eventually, he begins to tremble as whimpers of pleasure escape his lips.  He wants Chloe to either guide him into her body or touch him with her hands, anything to release some of the fiery tension that has him wound as tightly as one of the piano strings in Johnny’s grand piano. 

Finally, she stops and rises to her knees again.  Clark reaches up and captures her lips in a firm kiss as she cups his face with her soft hands.  Every so often, her long fingernails would graze his cheek and her erect nipples would scrap against his torso, bringing him to such a brink that he might just erupt like Mount Vesuvius or Mount Saint Helens. 

Finally, as she showers every inch of his face in wet kisses, Clark’s mind goes blank as one of her hands heads south.  When the tips of her fingers reach his erection within the water, Clark’s breath hitches violently in his throat.  So violently, that if he were human, he might pass out from forgetting to breathe. 

Now Chloe has her hand wrapped around his erection and begins to squeeze and pump him.  Clark struggles to open his eyes.  “Chloe…” he breathes.

“Yes?” she answers with a voice that is little more than a husky whisper.

“I…I…” he can’t form any words as Chloe begins to pump faster and squeeze him harder.

“I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what you want,” Chloe teases breathlessly.  “I guess I’ll just have to do things my way.”  Now she squeezes him even harder and Clark cries out as he fights back against the building orgasm. 

The motions of Chloe's hand are making it harder and harder for Clark restrain himself.  Teasingly, Chloe would blow a little air into his ear, sending a trail of goosebumps through his body, making the hand pumping him feel even hotter.  

All words die in Clark's mouth and he can't form any protest as Chloe alternates between slowing down and speeding up the motions of her hand.  The little bit of his brain that doesn't feel like mush tells him that Chloe would do things her way no matter what.  

Soon, Clark's efforts to suppress his building orgasm begin to fail.  It feels like he's trying to restrain a volcano, but Chloe's hand is coming out victorious.  

He's failing.  

He screams as he comes right there in the bathtub, but Chloe doesn’t stop pumping him.  Not until the last few spasms fade. 

Chloe smiles down at him triumphantly.  “Do you give up, Clark Kent?”

Through his lust-filled haze, Clark smiles up at Chloe wickedly.  He reaches up with one hand and places it flat against her chest.  With one gentle, but firm motion, Clark pushes her back against the side of the tub they began with.  Still smiling down at her, Chloe looks up at him with love and surrender all in one. 

“My turn,” he hisses.  Keeping his gaze to her eyes, he slowly descends until his head submerges beneath the water.  Still underwater, Clark kisses the inside of Chloe’s thigh and through the water he hears her breath stop as her hands ball up in his hair.  Feeling her tugging slightly, he takes the hint and soon his tongue is stroking the walls of her crotch. 

He hears and feels her moans as he lavishes her folds with kisses and licks.  All the while he remains underwater.  This woman had better be grateful that he doesn’t really need to breath.  Eventually, through his tireless explorations, he finds her clit and she screams.  Holding her thighs steady with gentle, but iron-like grips, he pleasures his wife.  With his tongue, he writes the words, **I love you, Chloe Sullivan** , into her clit, alternating between the Kryptonian and English alphabets.  Faster and faster, Clark’s tongue works into his wife and her whole body vibrates with such violence that if he were to let go right now, she would be thrashing around like a wild animal. 

Soon, she cries out as she comes, and Clark’s face is slathered in a combination of bathwater and his wife’s wetness as his head finally rises out of the water.  He smiles down at her and she reaches into the water and grabs ahold of his length without a word, guiding it into her body.

All Clark can think as he and his wife bring each other to one final orgasm is that it feels like home. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

Thea gazes out the window as she rides with Johnny and Tess to his house.  He had never been a fan of limos, and nor was she really, but it’s a little more difficult to carrying on a conversation with someone when one of them is driving.

While Tess and Johnny sit in the front seats, Thea sits in the middle seat in the back so she can at least have some view of the two people up front. 

The plane trip was as good as could be expected.  Johnny is still afraid of flying, so he was unsurprisingly tense the whole trip.  Thea, her thoughts about flying is that they are uneventful.  She prefers to able to see and enjoy the world as it passes by, like on road trips.  Plus, she does enjoy opportunities to go flying with her stepfather.  Due to all that, she found herself keeping conversation with just Tess.  Before, Thea had only spent about a week and a half at time in Star City, so she doesn’t know it too well.  She listened intently as Tess gave her a list of places that she ought to check out, while also promising to take her to some of the places when there’s a weekend they are both free.

When they got to the airport, there were reporters and camera crews waiting for them.  At first, Thea almost said something snarky, such as is there any place in the world where my brother _doesn’t_ have reporters and cameras waiting for him?  Then she thought about it and these people were probably looking for a scoop on Johnny and Tess’s efforts towards helping the city of Metropolis.  When they Thea, some were wondering who she was. 

It’s a nice thought that the world doesn’t know who she is. 

Johnny can be a people person, but Tess is better with the press.  She quieted the crowd down and simply told them that they were not taking questions now, but if any of them would like to speak, they could schedule an appointment for an exclusive.  She didn’t give anyone a calling card, so Thea assumed that everyone knew how to get ahold of SulMerc. 

Thea would never say this to her parents, but sometimes she wonders why the two of them made careers as reporters.  It always seems like people have to lose a piece of their souls or compassion in order to make a career out of journalism.  Why else do journalists seem to disregard people’s personal space all for the sake of a stupid article?

Not that she ever expressed her exact thoughts on the matter, but her mother would argue that there’s a fine line between paparazzi—who make it their business to invade people’s personal space and spread rumors through tabloids—and journalism.  Chloe Sullivan is an investigative journalist; she investigates and makes sure that everything she puts on paper is legitimate.

Thea remembers a time or two over the dinner table when she told her mother, that as good as she is at investigating her sources, she could have made a great detective if she put those skills to police work instead of journalism.  To add to the idea, she remembers her stepfather musing,

“‘Detective Chloe Sullivan’…I like it.”

Her mother had crossed her arms as she fired back with, “Not Chloe Kent?”

Then her stepfather gulped and started stammering, making everyone laugh.  Even so, Chloe Sullivan-Kent is perfectly content with being a retired _journalist_.  Thea knows she’s used them before, but she knows that her mother doesn’t like using or carrying a gun.  She didn’t say it in so many words, but her mother made it quite clear that she would not have enjoyed a career that required her to carry a gun.

Once Thea, Johnny and Tess were in Johnny’s car and on their way to his house, they all relaxed audibly. 

“So, Johnny, when’s orientation?” asks Thea.

“Two days,” replies Johnny from the front seat.  “Do you have everything you need?”

In response, Thea digs through her messenger bag.  She finds the folder that her stepfather made for her and pulls it out.  She begins flipping through it to make sure she has everything she needs.  Eventually she groans and Johnny laughs.

“Don’t worry, Skippy; Mom emailed me copies of your papers,” he reassures.  “When we get home, we can look through them and see which ones you do and don’t have.”

At that, Thea lets out a sigh of relief.  The last thing she needs is to start college without having everything she needs.  On the bright side though, she doesn’t have to worry about school housing.  Star City University actually has a relatively low acceptance rate and high SAT standards, and was accepted into a few of the Ivy Leagues, but she wanted to be close to her brother. 

“Will Aimee be home?” she asks. 

“No,” replies Johnny.  “The DA’s office has her swamped so she won’t be home until about six.” 

Feeling brave, Thea asks gently, “Um, is there a chance that we could visit Riley?”

The car falls a bit quiet. 

With each passing day, Thea could see the effect that her niece being in the NICU has on her brother.  He never spoke to her directly about it, not even to their half-sisters as far as she knows, but she did overhear him talking about it with their mother and stepfather once.  He told them that he and Aimee don’t talk about it, but they might be starting to accept that their baby might not come out of the NICU alive.  Thea wanted to barge in and wrap her arms around her brother, but she was supposed to be in bed.  Her parents however, each offered an uplifting pep talk and promised that one day, he would hold his daughter in his arms, watch her grow, graduate, go to college, get married, and have children of her own.  She heard her brother crying while their parents were most definitely burying him in hugs.

She’s talked to Tess and Aimee and they have said similar things.  At work, Tess says that Johnny has been growing more high-strung and has barely been holding back his usually long temper towards other businesspeople that get on his nerves.  At home, Aimee says that he paces more than he sleeps and a lot of the time, she had been waking up in the mornings to find Johnny had either gone jogging or headed out to work already.  Even her mother has told her that when Johnny was younger, he tended to bottle up how he really felt, or put it all into one of his diaries instead of actually sharing how he feels. 

All Thea wants to do is figure out a way to help her brother.  She hopes that being here will help give him something to smile about. 

Through the rearview mirror, Johnny gives his sister a water smile.  “I’d thought you’d never ask.  But let’s at least get you settled in first.” 

“Oh, great, so do I get to pick the room?” asks Thea.

“No,” replies Johnny.

Thea pouts.  “Well then where am I sleeping?”

“There’s a dog house in the gardens that’s just big enough for you to sleep in,” Johnny deadpans.

“JONATHAN!” Thea and Tess exclaim as one. 

If he wasn’t driving, Thea would smack that smile right off her brother’s face.  “Well then, Tess will take me in, won’t you?”

Tess cranes her neck as she gives her a considerate look.  “Yeah, you can come live with me.  More movie nights and you can be the cute little sister who scares off the dates who get on my nerves.”

Johnny scoffs.  “The adjective being ‘cute;’ your dates might just blindside you and try to woo _her_.”

While Thea giggles to herself at the compliment, Tess scowls at her best friend.  “Watch it, Queen Bee.”

The smile on Johnny’s face comes right off and briefly flicks one of his famous death stares at Tess.  Tess doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re lucky you’re both gorgeous and my best friend; you know how much I hate that nickname,” he says quietly.  Thea remembers a few years ago when that nickname made its way into the tabloids a few years back.  It was a running joke within the media for months.

At least Johnny knows that Tess means no harm when she says it, as far as Thea can tell.

“And as for you, Thea, Aimee and I already prepared that bedroom you always wanted to have for you,” says Johnny.  “All it needs are sheets which we thought you would prefer to pick out as well as your things.”

Thea smiles widely.  The room he’s talking about opens out into the back of the property, overlooking the gardens and the forest the surrounds much of the neighborhood.  It’s not necessarily one of the larger bedrooms, but she likes it.  The room also has its own bathroom. 

Soon, the silence is broken, by Johnny’s phone ringing.  “Excuse for a minute, ladies,” he apologizes as he presses the answer button on his Bluetooth.  “This is Jonathan.”

Thea and Tess watch him as he speaks to whoever he’s on the phone with.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts.  “You’re serious?  Y-y-yes, I can come right now.  Thank you so much.”  He disconnects and before Tess or Thea can ask him what’s going on, he pulls off the road at the nearest exit, putting them in the parking lot of a grocery store.  As soon as he parks the car, he gets out without a word.  After sharing a look with Tess, Thea follows her out of the car as well.  Gently, they approach Johnny.

“What is it, Johnny?” asks Tess.

Johnny, who has his hands on his knees, looks up, regarding Tess and Thea in turn.  “It’s Riley.”

“And?” asks Tess and Thea as one.

Massive tears well up in Johnny’s eyes as a smile spreads across his lips.

Thea smiles too.  “Is she…?”

Johnny nods vigorously.  “My…my…my daughter is coming home.”

Thea squeals as she jumps.  Then she runs to her brother, burying him in a hug.  Shaking with sobs of joy, he hugs back.  Thea lifts one of her arms and beckons Tess to join.  She does.  Eventually, the three break apart. 

“So, seriously, she’s coming home?” Thea asks, even though she knows she shouldn’t have to.

“She’s perfectly healthy and—and…” Johnny’s hyperventilating.  “Oh, my God.”

“I’ll drive,” offers Tess.  “You just get in the back.”

Johnny nods.  “Yeah, yeah.”  Tess and Thea help him back to the car, neither of them concerned about some of the shoppers who had stopped whatever they were doing to stare rudely. 

“I have to call Aimee,” says Johnny as they get into the car.

“I thought she was in the middle of a trial,” says Thea.

The smile on Johnny’s face is broader than what she’s seen in weeks.  “Trust me, Skippy.  Assuming she’s in the middle of a trial, do you really think that that will keep her from getting a chance to hold her daughter for the first time?”  Not waiting for her reply, he dials her sister-in-law’s number.

***

“Cheer up, Harry, you did well,” says Aimee, patting her young colleague on the back.  They just got out of a trial wherein Harry, a recent law school graduate who was assigned to her firm, got a well-known crime boss convicted.  For a first trial, this kid seemed more like an experienced lawyer rather than a nervous first-timer.  And Aimee doesn’t normally compliment junior lawyers.  She was asked to observe him as he made his way through the trial and he held his own quite well against the much more experienced defense attorney.

Harry regards her.  “All that confidence…I was pretending.”

Aimee smiles knowingly.  “I’m a district attorney and I get nervous sometimes too.  Some days I go into that courtroom very confident, other times not so much.”

The elevator dings and opens up to Harry’s floor. 

“I look forward to working with you again,” says Aimee, offering her hand. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Queen,” thanks Harry, grasping her hand.

“It’s Aimee,” she reminds him patiently.  She loves her husband, but professionally, she tries to distance herself from all the hype that comes with the Queen name as best she can.  It doesn’t always work, but sometimes it can.

As the elevator closes again, her phone vibrates.  By the _Firefly_ theme song, she knows it’s her husband.  She could use a momentary distraction from her job.

“Hey, J.Q.,” she greets.  “You caught me just in—”

“Riley’s coming home!” her husband shouts through the phone.

Aimee freezes.  “You mean she’s…our baby girl…?” a lump builds up in her throat against the building emotion. 

“Yes, farmgirl, our baby’s coming home,” Johnny replies to her unfinished question. 

“I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I can,” promises Aimee.

“Please drive safely,” pleads Johnny.

Aimee doesn’t even answer as she hangs up the phone.

***

As Clark flies the two of them to Star City, Chloe can barely suppress her excitement.  She’s waited too long to hold her granddaughter for the first time.  All the uncomfortable conversations, the effort to fight back the raging hopelessness, thinking that her son might lose his daughter due to the complications of her premature birth…it was agony.  She doesn’t have to worry anymore.  At least, she doesn’t have to worry about _that_ anymore.

She smiles happily into the fabric of Clark’s dress shirt.  The two of them were sharing a quiet lunch together when Chloe received a text from Thea, saying that Riley was coming out of the NICU.  She and Clark stopped eating immediately and got ready to leave.  Clark took a little longer.  For some reason, he felt he needed to look nice to meet her—their—granddaughter for the first time.  Chloe thought he was wasting time even if it took him barely five seconds to shower and change into something other than his sweat-soaked jeans and flannel.

When Clark slows to a stop, Chloe checks her watch.  Five minutes passed.  She looks up and finds herself in front of the entrance to the hospital.  She shares a look with Clark.  He looks like he very much wants to rush in there, and Chloe does too, but it might not be the best idea. 

Clark offers his arm and Chloe smiles as she links her hand around his elbow.  Together, they walk into the building.  It’s not long before they spot Johnny, Aimee, Tess, and Thea waiting for them.

Chloe regards her son and daughter-in-law. 

A few of Johnny’s bangs are obscuring his eyes.  The suit coat that would have gone with his pants is missing, leaving just his purple shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  Aimee looks quite nice in her gray suit-dress and white blouse underneath.  Her hair looks like it was in a bun before, but is now hanging around her shoulder in a dark curtain that greatly contrasts with her pale skin. 

They both look like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders as they grasp each other’s arms.  The only anxiety that Chloe sees now is that of parents waiting to hold their baby daughter.

Johnny is the first to approach them as he gently detaches himself from his wife.  Chloe detaches herself from Clark and meets her son halfway, enveloping him in a hug. 

“I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Johnny,” she breathes into her son’s chest. 

Johnny doesn’t say anything; he only hugs her tighter. 

“Mr. Queen?”

Johnny detaches himself from his mother and their eyes find a doctor.

“If you follow me, I can take you and your wife to the NICU,” she announces.  “Everyone else, please wait here in the lobby.” 

Chloe and Clark sink down onto one of the couches.  In an effort to ignore her impatience to see her granddaughter, she smiles at her daughter.

“So, Thea how was your flight?” she asks conversationally.

“Boring,” replies Thea.  “And my transportation wasn’t wearing tights or flannel,” she adds under her breath.  It was loud enough that everyone laughs softly.

“We tried to make it a little more entertaining,” Tess says defensively. 

“But I still have an older brother who hates flying,” Thea reminds her dryly.  “It’s hard to enjoy a flight when at least one person would rather _drive_ cross country.”

Chloe cocks her head.  “Be nice to your brother,” she admonishes. 

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing; I just wish I could have done more to ease his flight.”

Tess wraps an arm around Thea’s shoulders.  “Thea, I’ve been trying to do that for almost twenty years now.  Only he can figure out how to overcome his fear of flight.”

Everyone shares a silent moment.  Johnny’s fear of flight has been with him since the day Oliver Queen died.  Some fears people don’t overcome.  Johnny is barely brave enough to fly with Clark, even if he does trust him with his life.  In some ways, Chloe feels that a part of him is holding onto the memory of his late father and not in the best way.

The elevator dings and everyone whip around towards its direction.  The doors open and there they see Johnny and Aimee…with…

A huge smile spreads across Chloe’s face as she sees the baby wrapped in a baby blanket Martha Kent made for Johnny when he was a baby in Aimee’s arms.  Chloe barely notices as she slowly rises off the couch and slowly approaches her son.

Tears well up in her eyes as she stares at the baby and then at Johnny and Aimee, whose cheeks are also tear-stained. 

“Everyone, Aimee and I would like to introduce you to Riley Lois Queen,” Johnny announces breathlessly.

Everyone crowds around the baby.  She’s fast asleep.

“Mom?”

Chloe looks up at her son. 

“Would you like hold her?” he asks. 

In answer, Chloe puts her arms out as Aimee gently eases the baby into her arms.  She’s too young to really place her features with Johnny or Aimee, but all Chloe can say is, “She’s perfect.”

Clark squeezes her shoulders and Chloe reaches up to meet him for a kiss.  When she breaks away from him, her eyes return to the infant.

“Hi, Riley,” she greets, knowing that the little critter can’t understand her.  “It’s about time you came out of there.  I’m your grandmother and I’m going to spoil you so hard your daddy will have to kill me.”

“Don’t tempt me, Mother,” Johnny warns, though through more tears of joy.  “Let’s go home and celebrate before people overhear me calling a woman who looks no older than twenty-five my mother.”

“Sounds like a plan, Johnny,” agrees Thea.

Together, the family leaves the hospital, bringing the new addition home. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

It wasn’t until evening, Gotham’s time, before Lois received pictures of her cousin’s granddaughter.  Lois sat in the study of Wayne Manor as she smiled down at the photos on her tablet.  The little critter wrapped in that baby blanket with bows and arrows all over it…all Lois regrets is not being there to hold her.  At her age and how she’s looking these days, _she_ could be little Riley Queen’s grandma instead of Chloe. 

As she continues to stare at the photos fondly, her screen goes blank.  Johnny’s name comes onto the screen, calling her. 

Smiling, she answers.  Immediately, Johnny comes onto the screen.

“Hey there, Johnny,” greets Lois. 

“Hey, Aunt Lois,” Johnny greets back.  The screen adjusts on his end and Aimee comes into view.  By their surroundings, it looks like they might be on a couch. 

Lois has to fight back a smile.  Even if she always thought Aimee was a sweet girl, she was a bit cynical about how long their relation would actually last.  She was never a big believer in high school sweethearts lasting for too long.  It sure didn’t work out very well for Clark.

“I can’t tell you two how happy I am that Riley finally came out of the NICU,” she says earnestly. 

Johnny and Aimee share a smile.  Maybe it’s because they are younger or that Johnny has always had a special place in her heart, but Lois could never get tired of watching those two get overly affectionate with each other.  Maybe it’s because both of them are not terribly known for being sentimental.  At least not unless they are well-acquainted with the people they are around.  Now that their daughter is home where she belongs, Lois suspects that she’s going to see a lot of smiles and public displays of affection.

“We are too, Aunt Lois,” agrees Johnny.

Lois smirks.  “I gotta say, Johnny, she looks a little too cute to be your daughter.”

While Aimee covers her mouth, stifling her giggles, Johnny scowls at Lois.

“Aunt Lois, you might want to look in a mirror; your hair dye is wearing off,” he says observationally.

Now it’s Lois’ turn to scowl.  He’s definitely Oliver Queen’s son.  She could say that, if only to annoy him, but it some regards, it’s a compliment.  He doesn’t have the playboy image of his late father, but he does have that sense of humor.  She decides to change the subject.

“How are things over on the West Coast?” she asks.  “Tell me everything.”

Aimee and Johnny share a look again.  Johnny sighs heavily.  “And out comes the reporter, Aimee.”

“And out comes the reporter,” agrees Aimee.  She offers Lois a considerate look as she shoves a strand of her dark hair out of her face.  “I’ll give you two some alone time.  Besides, Thea needs help deciding which pizza place to order from.”  With that, she gives her husband a quick kiss upon the lips and then disappears from view.

“Well, where would you like me to start?” asks Johnny, sitting up straighter.

“Ahem!” Lois exclaims dramatically.  “I’ll be the one asking the questions.”

Johnny throws up his hand.  “I’m an open book.”

“And half of that book is encrypted.”

“Only when nosy, heartless reporters are trying to get a scoop out of my private life.”

“Am I a nosy, heartless reporter?” asks Lois with a pout that makes her feel years younger.

Johnny flashes his teeth as a smile spreads across his lips.  “You get on get my nerves too much.”

Lois smirks.  “Of course I do; I’m your godmother.”

Johnny gives her sideways glance.  “You’re sure you’re not a fairy?”

Lois gives him an indignant look.  Soon they both laugh.  “So, how are things at SulMerc?”

Johnny clears his throat and launches into a detailed explanation of what’s been going on at his and Tess Mercer’s business.  Some board members “not-so-secretly” as Johnny puts it, feel that the company’s investment in charity funds for children’s hospitals is mostly due to Riley having been in the NICU.  Johnny admits that that may be partially true as he is a father, but Lois knows that he has always had a soft spot for children.  Right now, board members are trying to pressure him into delving deeper into the company’s military contracts.  Johnny hates war and even if it does make for decent profits, he hates throwing money into making weapons.   

That’s one of the things Lois loves about him.  She could only imagine how much the General would have griped about that were he still alive.  Her sister Lucy, who somehow turned her life around and got into the military and is now a general herself, has complained about SulMerc’s adversity to offering better weapons.  Johnny’s certain that if SulMerc were to bring its weapons development into full capacity, the company might actually rival Wayne Enterprises.  According to his experts, SulMerc could produce as much as Wayne Enterprises and for half the price.  Lois is inclined to believe him.   

“If you ask me, Johnny, I think Bruce still likes to keep a lot of the good stuff that Wayne Enterprises has developed, or scrapped, for himself,” she says with a wink.

Johnny’s eyes wander as he considers that.  “That’s probably true.  And how much is the suit that the ‘new’ pointy-eared Batman with no cape and a full facemask worth?”

Lois thinks about that.  “I’ll get back to you on that,” she eventually responds tightly.  She can get around Bruce’s gloomy exterior most of the time, but she’s not always able to get him to talk about stuff involving Batman, or even share stories from when _he_ was Batman.  She has learned how to approach him in a gentle manner without going into reporter mode—which is a lot of the time.

“How’s Thea settling in?” she asks.

Johnny looks grateful for the change in subject.  “Um, she seems to be settling in quite well,” he replies.  “She chose one of the smaller bedrooms, but it does have a nice view of the property in the back.  Right now, the only thing that worries me is her transitioning out of a farmer’s sleeping patterns.”

Lois raises her eyebrows.  “Clark never grew out of a farmer’s sleeping pattern.  Do you really think that Thea, having been _raised_ by Clark Kent will grow out of it either?”

“Good point,” agrees Johnny.  Then he smiles.  “But yes, she does seem to be settling in okay.  We all hope that the change will help her.”

A moment of silent understanding passes between them.  Lois has offered her own consolation to Thea, but while she likes to think that she is capable of being a shoulder for someone, sharing grief, she’s never been too good at it.  It’s been several years now, but what she does remember from when Jonathan Kent died, she told Clark,

“At first you don’t know how you’ll get over it, but somehow you do,” or something along those lines.  Now she wishes she could remember her exact words.  What she does remember is that she didn’t exactly reach out to him too well.  They might not have been the closest of friends at the time, but after having had been in a serious relationship once upon a time, she wishes she could have at least talked him into doing something fun.  She could have done something to distract him from the pain of losing his father.  Then when his mother died, she still didn’t do much other than help Johnny convince him to come home from his self-induced exile. 

Among other things, Johnny definitely inherited his mother’s ability to reach out to people.  Well, at least the people that he cares about.  Lois can remember times when emailing back and forth with Chloe when Clark shot down Chloe’s efforts—like that weird time when he was blind for a little while—to reach out to him.  At the time, Lois remembers wondering how the hell does somebody become blind, only to regain their sight a mere few days later?

“Well, Aunt Lois, I better get going; there’s a little one in the house now and my chore list is through the roof,” says Johnny.  His deadpan tone could say otherwise to those who don’t know him too well, but Lois can see the thrill in his eyes.  He might complain about the sleepless nights to come—she remembers when Chloe would call at ungodly hours when he then Thea kept her awake at night—but at the end of the day, he’s clearly excited about being a father.

She does feel a twinge of regret from when Damien was born.  Before then, she was known to be a bit cranky when much needed sleep was interrupted.  The first week or so that her son was born, it was Bruce who checked up on him when he began crying in the middle of the night.  It made perfect sense.  After all, Bruce did like to play dress-up and be a hero at night, so the nocturnal wails of an infant came quite easy for him.  Or at least he made it look easy. 

Now that kid is fifteen.  He has that dark twinge of handsomeness like his father, but with her pouty features. 

“Aunt Lois?”

Lois snaps back to reality and focuses her gaze on Johnny, who hasn’t turned off his end yet.  She puts on a smile.  “Sorry, Johnny, I…”

“Were you reminiscing?” asks Johnny understandably.

She simply nods.  “Time flies.  Your mother had you.  I had Damien.  Now you have Riley.  You’ll be fine.  I’ll let you focus your attention on her now.”

“Okay, Auntie Lo, I’ll talk to you later.”

Lois feels a lump in her throat.  He’s barely called her that since he was ten.  “Talk to you later.”

The screen cuts black.  Lois takes a moment to glance around.  Wayne Manor has a lot classier feel to it than the Queen mansion.  Both are probably as old, but Bruce Wayne doesn’t surround himself with lots of flashy stuff, not like Oliver Queen did.  The flashy, hi-tech stuff that Bruce Wayne does have, he most reserves for his Batcave. 

In this study, Lois almost feels like she’s in a scene of _The Godfather_ with plush armchairs, old-fashioned lamps, and bookshelves with leather-bound volumes, and wooden accent tables that have that aged look to them.  Another feature, one that she is quite grateful for, is the quiet.  Once or twice, people have told her over the years that she is a loud person, but she had no idea how loud until Damien came along.  When the boy starts talking, almost nothing shuts him up.

This evening, that boy is at a movie.  Bruce can be a nice person to have a conversation with, but over the years, Lois has learned to enjoy the moments of quiet. 

That moment of quiet is interrupted by her cellphone.  She reads the caller ID and rolls her eyes as she answers.

“Hey, cuz,” she greets.

“Hey, Lois, did you get those pictures I sent you?” asks Chloe.

Lois clears her throat.  “Yes, I did,” she confirms.  “She’s so cute.”

“She is, isn’t she,” her cousin agrees.  “I wonder if we were ever that cute when we were babies.”

“No, most babies are pretty ugly.”

“Mm, yeah I thought so too, Lois,” Chloe deadpans.  “Then I had babies of my own and now one of them gave me a grandbaby.”

A smile spreads across Lois’ face.  “I am glad that Riley’s out of the NICU and breathing.”

“Me too,” agrees Chloe.  Then she gasps sharply.  “Clark, stop it!  I’m on the phone!”

Lois is glad she’s talking to her cousin through the phone.  Her smile slowly disappears as it dawns on her where Chloe might be and what’s going on.  She can think of a few times that she had been on the phone with Chloe and Clark would be keeping her…otherwise occupied.

“I’ll call you some other time,” she offers.

“O-okay,” Chloe replies breathlessly.  “Tell Damien I said hi.”

“I’ll do that,” Lois promises.  “Bye cuz.”

“Bye cuz,” Chloe echoes.  Then the line disconnects.  Chloe is just a few years younger than her, yet she still looks twenty-five.  She’s still capable of having children.  Soon she could be enjoying the benefits of senior citizenry, but who would believe Chloe Kent was in her sixties?  Who would believe Clark Kent was in his sixties?

In the words of Bruce, Lois is a witty, outspoken young woman trapped in the body of a woman in her mid-sixties.  Despite not-so-subtle urgings to retire, Lois still finds herself hunting down stories.  God knows that Gotham has plenty of stories just waiting to be exposed.  Although, being married to an ex-superhero, she’s learned the hard way more times than she would like to admit that sometimes exposing stories brings more harm than good.  She began to understand how Chloe felt every time Chloe exposed a story that was better left untold. 

The remorse that can come with exposing stories…it almost feels like times when she was young and she teased the wrong people.  While those people suffer because their lives have been exposed and read by a number of people, people like Lois and Chloe are left feeling like garbage. 

People have a right to know the truth, but how much truth is actually worth telling?  Some truths can tarnish the reputations of potentially admirable people.  Some truths can ruin lives.  Lois sure doesn’t like to think about what it would be like if the world knew who Superman and Batman were.  What if the world knew that Jonathan Sullivan-Queen was the boy behind the fabled Purple Arrow who patrolled the streets of Star City and the halls of Star City High briefly? 

Johnny might have only played hero for a few years, but it was enough to leave a mark.  The Purple Arrow’s reputation is heavily overshadowed by the Green Arrow—who also is no more—but the Purple Arrow and his loyal wolf-mix have quite a dedicated cult following.  A small-time hero talked about in bars and among other people in Johnny’s graduating class.  Where is he?  What would he be like if he was still around?  Did he die?

The man behind the Purple Arrow is very much alive, but it was a sad day for everyone—especially Johnny—when Artemis, that beautiful white wolf-mix with brown face markings and blue eyes, passed away at the age of thirteen.  A sweetheart with her family—or pack maybe—who could also be quite vicious when the situation called for it.

Soon, Lois is pulled out of her reveries by the sound of her husband approaching. 

“Something on your mind, Lois?” asks the grave voice of Bruce Wayne.

Lois clears her throat.  “Um, no everything’s fine.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows as he takes a seat in the armchair beside her.  Lois Lane, intrepid reporter and Bruce Wayne, the man who probably has better detective skills than the entire Justice League combined.  Lois never said so to Clark, but that quality sometimes made Bruce a better field partner than he did. 

“You’re not a very good liar, Lois,” he reminds her.

“No, you’re just a very difficult person to lie to,” she protests.  Although, she’s not sure if he’s as difficult to lie to as Jonathan Sullivan-Queen is.  “I am annoyed, though, that I haven’t gotten to hold Johnny’s daughter yet.”

Bruce bores into her eyes quite hard.  Lois has been happy with her relationship with him, but that doesn’t always keep her jealousies at bay.  Eventually, a smile breaks through all those age lines that plague his features.  “Well, you’re in luck.”

Lois’ gaze turns suspicious.  “You booked us a flight to Star City, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Bruce confesses.  “We’ll leave the first thing in the morning.”

Lois frowns.  “What about Damien?”

“Dick will stop by and check on him,” explains Bruce.  “And we’ll only be gone for a few days.  Also, Terry would be doing it, but at the moment I have him away on business.” 

Lois laughs.  “Even when your little boy wonders move on to other things, you can’t seem to stop finding use for them, can you?”  Almost as soon as she says it, regret flooded her mind.  Dick Grayson and Tim Drake were both great allies to him, but there was Jason Todd.  No matter how many years pass, Lois can tell that not a day goes by that Bruce doesn’t feel like he failed Jason. 

One thing Clark and Bruce have in common is that they need reminded that they can’t save everyone, but they are some of the most stubborn men Lois ever met.  They also seem to treat contentment like it’s a crime.  Clark is always moping around about something and Bruce is just a broody hunk of an old man.  Bruce has more reason, in Lois’ opinion.  Clark didn’t see his parents get murdered right in front of him. 

How does one truthfully overcome that kind of trauma?

At least Lois can be proud that she gave Bruce a true family.  She also feels that she’s become good at settling disputes between him and Terry when they get into arguments.  Sometimes, she thinks that she infuriates more than she calms them.  Sometimes that just adds to her own amusement.

Bruce doesn’t seem to look hurt by her jocular statement.  He smiles again.  “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?” he agrees.  “Then again, I’m sure Zatanna is capable of letting Damien borrow her husband for a little while.” 

“She could always just use her powers to magically get him back to their house,” jokes Lois.

Bruce considers that.  “She tried doing something similar with me once; my insides felt awful for hours.”

Lois pouts playfully.  “Aw, poor Brucey.”

Bruce just scowls.  “Are you hungry?  I thought I’d order us some Thai.”

Lois shrugs.  “Thai food works.  Just don’t order anything that’ll give you heart failure.”

Bruce chuckles.

“Why don’t you make the order for three?”

Lois and Bruce jump at the same time and whip their heads towards the window. 

Their eyes land on a tall, dark figure in a long black trench coat.  To Lois, he looks like something out of _Matrix_ , although she’s not sure what to think about the sword. 

Bruce is the first to get up.  “Who are you and what are you doing in my—?” his question is cut off by a pronounced _squish_ and Lois gapes as…blood splatters on her face.  There, sticking out of Bruce Wayne’s chest is the arm of their intruder.  Underneath Bruce, the space where he is standing is quickly becoming stained with a puddle of blood and bits of bone and internal organs seeping out the edges of the arm sticking out of his body.     

“ _BRUCE_!” screams Lois, perhaps too loud for her aged vocal chords to handle.

Bruce’s body quickly goes limp and no other sound escapes Lois’ throat as she watches what’s left of her husband fall limp to the floor like a ragdoll.  She can’t even blink as she stares at the gaping hole in his body.  She can see pieces of his ribcage and spine, like an impromptu autopsy performed by someone who is about as qualified to be a medical examiner as she is to be a construction worker. 

“Shame that,” says her intruder as he…thoughtfully closes the distance between them.  Is that his excuse of an apology?

Lois is frozen in her armchair as she stares up into eyes that she now recognizes.  “What do you want from me?” she asks through a small and broken voice.

Her visitor smiles down at her thoughtfully.  “Lois Lane, I have so many plans for you.  But first, kneel before Zod.”

As if controlled by an unknown spell, Lois slides off the armchair into a kneeling position.  Not long after she does, she feels something grab her head from behind.  The fingers curl in on her face, preventing her from moving.  Then she feels some sort of energy seep into her skin.  As her skin begins to crawl and constrict on itself as if she were using a crown of thorns in place of a shower sponge, all she can do is scream.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

News of the death of Bruce Wayne quickly spread throughout the country and abroad.  At first, Chloe was astounded that she heard it over the news before she heard it from Lois, but after the details on how brutal his death was, all she wanted to do was fly to Gotham as soon as possible.  So, as soon as it was convenient, when the kids were sent to school, Clark flew her to Gotham. 

They found Lois and Damien in a sun room, away from the crime scene.  As soon as they entered the room, Lois threw herself onto Clark, hugging him and crying.  Clark hugged her back.  Chloe approached Damien and offered him a hug.  The fifteen-year-old boy, usually bright and glowing with the quirkiness of her mother, was grave and solemn like his father that day.  His black hair wasn’t neatly combed as it usually was and the hazel-green eyes he inherited from his mother didn’t light up in the slightest upon seeing his favorite woman in the whole world.  At least Chloe would like to think that she’s is favorite woman in the whole world; at his age, she might find herself competing with a pretty girl.

The crime scene was fully investigated, but Chloe did want to perform her own investigations.  Clark with his enhanced vision could have spotted something that the forensics teams might have missed, but Clark discreetly told her that that day was not the best day to be doing so.  Lois needed her cousin more than she needed someone solving her husband’s murder.  As much as Chloe knew that he wanted to solve this murder as much as she did, she had to admit he was right. 

Solving her cousin-in-law’s murder could wait for another day. 

They tried their best to keep the funeral as quiet as possible as Lois didn’t want her and her son to be in the spotlight, but it proved to be a difficult task.  Officially, the guest list was limited to a few close associates who worked for Wayne Enterprises and closer members of the Justice League as well as family, but keeping the press away was a chore. 

Chloe thought back to one of her son’s musings about journalism.  One of the biggest ironies, if not the biggest irony of journalism is that the press is as tightlipped and apprehensive as the people they try to coax interviews out of when _they_ are the ones targeted by the press.  Having been married to a playboy billionaire herself once, Chloe knows that feeling all too well.  All those times she overstepped ethical boundaries in her youth to chase down a story…and when she was on the receiving end of all that and the paparazzi; she had to remind herself that she loved being a journalist. 

Johnny, who hates being on the receiving end of the press, was very diplomatic with them.  Before the funeral proceedings even began, he spoke to the press.  He simply told them that they can do what they want, so long as they kept a respectable distance and didn’t try to coax any interviews out of what was left of the Wayne family.  Chloe wasn’t close enough to tell, but she could have sworn that he used his empathic powers to channel a certain amount of sympathy into the press.  Whatever he did, whether it was with his compelling words—and Chloe knew he could be quite compelling—or if he used some of his powers, the press kept their distance.  Some of them even left. 

Chloe suspected that their superiors weren’t going to be too happy with them.  In that event, as far as Chloe was concerned, they could just go shove their staplers up their asses.

The funeral was very quiet.  On a positive, yet bittersweet note, Lois got up and shared that at least her husband was with his parents again and that she was grateful that she could help give him a family of his own in her lifetime.  God knows he deserved it.  It was a closed casket funeral; Lois didn’t like the idea of people ogling her husband’s dead body.  Not when his body had a gaping hole in it where his heart should have been. 

Chloe would never say this to Lois, but she did sneak into the medical examiner’s office and inspected the corpse.  The body made her vomit.  She had seen eviscerations—she kept Davis Bloome in the basement of the Talon once upon a time—but seeing what was left of a friend, it was one of the most horrifying things she had ever seen.  If Clark had not arrived, she wasn’t sure if she’d had been able to leave.  In fact, according to him, it took her about an hour after they got to their room at Wayne Manor to come out of her state of shock.

One thing about the funeral that Chloe found was sweet in an odd way was the headstone arrangements.  Before Bruce and Lois fell in love and eventually tied the knot, Bruce’s name was on his parents’ headstone.  A name waiting for the day that the person it belonged to would be buried in the ground as well.  Instead Bruce was buried in a grave of his own with Lois and Damien’s names on them, so that one day they could be buried with him.  It’s quite morbid in Chloe’s opinion, but she could see how people would find it special.  Like some sort of shared afterlife. 

By the time Chloe arrived with her family to the reception following the burial, Wayne Manor had an uncharacteristically melancholy air to it.  Wayne Manor always has a melancholy air to it, but Lois and Damien always seemed to bring a considerable amount of joy into it that overshadowed the gloom of it. 

As Chloe stepped past the threshold into the house with her hand linked with Clark’s arm, wearing a black pencil-skirt dress and Martha Kent’s pearl necklace—one of the few items Clark kept to preserve his mother’s memory—it just felt…ugly.  The friends and associates she recognized from the Justice League, they all looked so bleak in black.  She had become so used to the colorful explosion of the Justice League and seeing those color schemes dominate their street clothes, that seeing this sea of black was like being surrounded by strangers.

Clark is no stranger to black, but this felt different.  When he wore that ridiculous black trench coat and shirt all those years ago, that was him embracing his Kryptonian side and rejecting his human side.  This was one of those occasions, like when Jonathan and Martha Kent died, she saw a man in need of a hug or at least a friend.  Their daughter, Moira, is no stranger to black either, but there’s strange vibe that Chloe feels.  Somehow, you just know how someone is wearing black.  Somehow you can tell if someone is wearing black because they like the color, or if it’s formal, or if they are Goth, or if they are simply in mourning. 

One of the most bittersweet moments came when Lois asked Johnny to provide music on the piano.  Johnny softly agreed and soon the house was filled with melancholy, yet strangely uplifting music.  Chloe didn’t think he was playing anything for memory.  Rather, as he would explain it, he was simply creating an improvisation using a minor key and a scale that he felt fit the atmosphere.  Sometimes she let him bore her to death talking music theory because she knows it’s a hobby he’s passionate about, but that day wasn’t one of them.  Nor did he seem in the mood for talking about music theory.

Soon, though, she could tell that his hold on his emotions was coming down.  Standing too close to the piano, it became difficult to not get teary-eyed.  His music had literally begun to create an emotional atmosphere around him and it took Clark—who remains unaffected by Johnny’s empathic powers—to gently tell  him to stop. 

Johnny sure seemed happy to bring his musical poignancy to a close. 

After a while, Chloe could tell that Lois was growing tired of the “I’m so sorry for your loss’s.”  On her way to a bathroom, she overheard a crash.  Deciding that her bladder could wait a minute or two, she investigated.  She gently eased the door open and found Damien smashing things.  Deciding that it might have been better to let his mother deal with him, Chloe tracked down Lois and together they hurried back to that room.

Damien wasn’t smashing anything anymore.  Instead, he was huddled up in a corner, jerking violently with sobs.  One thing he inherited from his father is how reserved he usually is about his emotions, making some of the humor he gets from his mother come off as dry and sarcastic.  So, seeing him cry as hard as he was, it was strange to say the least.

If Chloe were to tell the truth, this whole thing was strange.  The circumstances of Bruce Wayne’s death; Lois being uncharacteristically touchy-feely with Clark—Chloe isn’t sure yet if she should be worried—Damien throwing a tantrum…in fact, the past few weeks or so since the meteor shower in Metropolis, things have gone from weird to weirder.

When Lois decided that it was time for everyone to leave, there was a silent understanding as everyone quietly left Wayne Manor with little more than a small goodbye.  Chloe and her family, including Johnny and Aimee, were the last to leave. 

Chloe didn’t feel like it was the best timing, but Clark swore to Lois and Damien that he would find Bruce’s killer and bring them to justice.  Even so, Lois launched herself onto him in a hug.  Clark nearly had to pry her off of him. 

The only real comic relief from the whole event was Clark’s discomfort flying in a plane.  It would have been more trouble than it was worth to fly each of his family to Gotham in turn, plus Johnny insisted on making a stop to Metropolis airport so that he could fly the family in his jet.  Chloe felt that having more of his family with him helped Johnny ignore his fear of flying and that also might have been Clark’s reason for agreeing to flying with him. 

It never stops pleasing Chloe just how much Clark cares about the children she didn’t have with him.  He might not have raised Johnny like he raised Thea, but he was very present in his life and continues to care about him.

When they got to Metropolis, Johnny offered to take everyone to dinner.  As much as Chloe and her husband appreciated the offer, she wasn’t in the mood for an outing.  Not wanting to feel like it was a simple pit stop between Gotham and Star City, Johnny insisted on at least treating everyone to ice cream.  Maybe it was because of the children’s insistent begging, but Chloe caved.

Turns out she really needed the comfort food.  She never could quite answer why ice cream is so good for when you need comfort food when her children would ask.  Maybe it’s that it’s just so delicious.  Chloe’s yet to meet a person in her life who doesn’t like ice cream other than the occasional diabetic or the lactose intolerant. 

At least little Ryan didn’t pester her or Clark about where Bruce Wayne is now.  It would have been awkward as he tends to come up with question after question—a trait Clark admonishingly, albeit playfully accuses Chloe of passing down to him.  Maybe one of her children might turn into another Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter just like her.  

When they all finished their ice cream, it was time to bid each other their final farewells.  It took Chloe a few minutes to detach herself from her two eldest children.  No matter how many years pass, it seems that that slight ache she feels when her children leave her never goes away.  Sometimes she still wishes they were young enough for her to hold in her arms, attempt to outperform Clark in terms of cooking real meals that come from the frozen dinner section, and simply hovering over them like a concerned mother. 

It’s probably that hovering part that children hate the most.  Sadly she doesn’t have much experience in that department.  A mother committed when she was fairly young and a mostly absentee father who didn’t attend any of her weddings.  So she had to learn how to be a person on her own.  She sure hopes that she hasn’t overcompensated where her own children are concerned.

As she watched Johnny, Aimee, Tess, and Thea board the plane she felt Clark’s strong hands squeeze her shoulders affectionately.   

She gently spun around and gazed up into her husband’s eyes.  “I want to go home.”

Clark silently understood and the family made their way to the minivan in the airport’s parking garage.  It seems silly for a family like Chloe’s to use, or even own a minivan, but it is practical.  It certainly helps give off the façade of having a normal family.  Since Clark drives like an old lady still, Chloe was the one to drive. 

It was nearly nightfall by the time the Kent family arrived home and Clark simply ordered pizzas for everyone.  The children were especially excited to be having pizza.  Chloe sure didn’t mind having pizza.  She loves her husband’s cooking, but even his culinary skills could use a break once in a while.  It was very rare, but Chloe can remember times when Clark invited her over when Jonathan and Martha forewent actually cooking dinner and simply ordered pizzas and watched a movie. 

In terms of movies, the children argued about which one to watch.  Ryan is a bit young for R-rated and a good number of PG-13 movies, so it had to be child-friendly.  The twins were okay with watching child-friendly films for the sake of their little brother, just so long as it wasn’t one of the movies that he tends to watch over and over again.  Eventually, the children agreed on one of the older Pixar films, one of the ones that Clark and Chloe grew up with. 

Clark, Chloe, and the twins had trouble keeping their mouths shut as they watched _Toy Story_ _2_.  If it had just been them, they would have commentated and discussed all the improvements that have been made over the years in terms of computer animation.  As long as it was good natured and no badmouthing was involved, it was usually very civil.  The children were not allowed to badmouth classic Pixar films.

When the movie was over and the pizza was finished, the children were sent off to bed.  Clark and Chloe eventually headed off to bed as well.

An hour after crawling into bed with her husband, Chloe finds herself still staring up at the ceiling.  The strange circumstances of Bruce Wayne’s death aside, his death has made her feel very mortal.  What would she look like if it wasn’t for her healing powers, keeping her at her prime?  Would she look something like Lois?  Would she be one of those people who others said “She looks good for her age”?  Would she even be dead from toxins sustained by some of the injuries she’s suffer over the years?

Her children most certainly would be dead, some of them ten or fifty times over.

As all these thoughts run her head, in the darkness she feels the bed shift slightly.  “What’s the matter, Chloe?” asks Clark groggily.

“I…I just can’t believe Bruce Wayne is dead,” replies Chloe. 

“It really made you feel your age, didn’t it?” Clark deduces understandably.

Chloe grunts.  “It might not have been old age that killed him, but now it feels like—until now—I haven’t really seen just how much he had aged and withered as the years have passed.  Or even how much Lois has aged.”  Chloe smirks.  “If she wanted to, she could easily pass off as Johnny’s mother.  I’m worried I might actually let her.”

Clark strokes a strand of Chloe’s hair out of her face lovingly.  “No one lives forever, Chloe.” 

She winces at him saying that.  The way he says it, he sounds genuinely worried—or rather convinced—that one day he’ll die.  “Don’t say that, Clark,” she says sharply.  She feels him gape slightly.

“I’m sorry, Chlo, I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologizes frantically. 

“It’s okay.”  Although, she might just be trying to convince herself that it’s okay. 

“We’ll solve Lois’ husband’s murder,” Clark promises.  “But now, just go to sleep.  I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Chloe actually smiles; Clark promises that he’ll be right beside her when she wakes up almost as much as he tells her that he loves her—which is every day.  Usually, he keeps that promise.  At least enough times that if he doesn’t, and if she doesn’t find him downstairs making breakfast or getting an early start on chores, or if he doesn’t leave a note saying he’s gone somewhere, that she knows something is wrong.

She really wants to make love to him, but just when she decides to sex up her husband, a low, deep breath sounds from Clark.  He’s already fallen asleep again!  If she’s going to be honest with herself, she’s exhausted too.  Bruce Wayne’s funeral, Thea heading off to college, nearly dying almost a month back…it’s all been emotionally taxing. 

If not sex, at least she can press herself as close to her husband as possible.  Being this close to her husband, she lets out a breath of contentment as she drifts off.  “Goodnight, Clark.”

***

Clark’s not sure what time it is when he’s brought awake again.  It looks like dawn is only a few hours away.  He hears singing.  A soft, lilting sound that is both calming and seductive. 

With no conscious decision of his own, he detaches himself from his wife who had her arm loosely wrapped around his chest.  What’s he doing?  He doesn’t want to get out of bed.  He wants to stay attached to his wife for as long as he can, to forget about being a parent for just a few more hours and simply be a husband hopelessly in love with his wife.  Still, he finds himself getting out of bed and following the sound. 

He creeps through the dark house soundlessly, careful not to wake any of his children.  The sound leads him to the door closest to the barn.  Quietly, he slips out of the house and is immediately welcomed by the crisp night air.  The singing is stronger now.  He tries to hold back from following the sound, but instead he body starts moving towards the sound with more determination.  He puts all his might into ignoring the sound, but then his body slips into super-speed.  Eventually, he finds himself in a clear patch in the back forty where he was creating a corn maze in preparation for Halloween next month. 

The singing is now loud enough that he might as well be at a rock concert or a football game.  He finds the source of the singing. 

He knows he should turn back.  He _wants_ to turn back.  Instead, he captures the naked singer in a mind-numbing kiss.  The singer attacks him with kisses of her own.  Her hands slide over the sculpted muscles of his bare torso as she hooks a leg around him.  Clark fiercely wants to pull back, to push this woman away, but instead his kisses become fiercer. 

This is not his wife.  Her breasts are too large.  Her hair is too long.  As his hands slide over the naked skin of her body, he sees that it isn’t even as curvaceous as his wife’s.  It’s more of an athletic build.  Her mouth has the faint taste of nicotine gum, instead of the sweet mixture of coffee and minty toothpaste of his wife’s mouth.  He does not love this woman in the slightest.  God knows he would rather swim in a vat of kryptonite than cheat on his wife.  He only has eyes for Chloe Sullivan.  Yet he isn’t pulling back as this woman pulls down his pajama bottoms and underwear and brings him down to the ground.

Up until now, his member has barely hardened, but then her mouth envelopes him.  He wants to tell her to back off, to quit touching him, but only moans of pleasure escapes his lips as his member quickly hardens and becomes swollen.  Tears are rolling down his cheeks.  He wants so desperately for this to end, for this to just be a horrible nightmare, but it is way too vivid.

At last, the singer releases his swollen erection.  Before he can feel relieved, she takes it in her hand and she impales herself on him.  A moan mixed with pleasure and angry discomfort escapes his lips.  With one final push, he tries to through off this woman and run back to his family.

He fails.

He thrusts up into the woman and fails to fight back as she grabs the back of his head and squeezes his face to the fleshy fullness of her breasts.  He tries to keep his mouth shut, but pain erupts in the deeper parts of his mind and is forces to take one of her nipples into his mouth.  The pain subsides, but his soul only shatters further as the singer throws her head back and cries out in ecstasy.  Savagely, he would love to bite down on that nipple, to give her a small taste of the pain he feels, but more pain erupts in his mind. 

As he climaxes, the only thought he tries to fill his mind are these words, “Chloe, forgive me.” 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have thought those words as soon the singer entraps him in another round.  


	15. Chapter Fourteen

For all the stories her parents told her about their years at Smallville High, nothing exciting has happened for Moira so far.  Her twin, Marty agrees to a point, but she argues that the meteor shower in Metropolis ought to count for something.  Moira agrees—although the word she would use would be “dreadful” not exciting—but she doesn’t feel that it counts since it was in Metropolis. 

So far, high school has been a relatively normal cycle of classes, lunchtime which is one of only four times that she sees her sister (the other three being P.E., English, and History), more classes and then heading home.

Beyond that, the only things that can really be called exciting are the extracurricular activities.  Following her mother’s footsteps—even though her mother has insisted that she’s perfectly okay with her carving her own path in life—Moira has joined the Torch.  She feels she got lucky because the current Torch editors were a little hesitant about letting a freshman join their team.  Moira could have told them that her mother is Chloe Sullivan, but she wanted to be able to prove herself without being tied to a legendary editor.  She did get on the bad side of one of the reporters for the Torch for reading actual books, being called an eco-terrorist. 

It took a lot for Moira to keep her temper under control.  Books are still printed, but the only trees that are cut down for books and such are from farms that specifically grow trees for that purpose.  A tree cut anywhere else is a serious crime.  Also, since trees grow at a very slow rate, trees that are cut down for paper are given a special growth hormone.  Moira never really got into botany—or dendrology which is the term for the study of woody plants. 

That’s the extent of Moira’s knowledge of plants.

Even so, Moira has been making a name for herself at the Torch, even if there’s nothing she finds remotely exciting to write about.  She doesn’t have the speed of her father and twin sister, but she can type really fast and that in and of itself has made her a valuable asset for the Torch.

The most recent article she’s written is about the upcoming Homecoming Week.  It was very hard to keep it neutral as she could care less about it.  However, Marty has made the cheerleading squad.  If it weren’t for that, there would be no reason for her to be writing at least a somewhat enthusiastic article, getting people excited for the stupid and overrated event. 

She remembers her dad telling her about that time his freshman year when that jerk—Whitney or Walter Fordman?—strung him up like a scarecrow.  An annual hazing event that is still a thing according to some of the rumors she’s overheard.  Maybe she should try and catch the seniors in the act and string _them_ up.  She likes the sound of that idea and she even voiced it to Marty, but the last thing Marty wanted was a bad image. 

Moira feels bad for her twin.  She loves her, but Marty seems to be willing to sacrifice a few of her morals and likings to live up to the expectations of the people she’s surrounded herself with.  It could also be the reason Moira remains an outsider.  She has her hobbies and is not ashamed of her personality.  If people have a problem with that, then they can go screw themselves.  It seems like the only thing Marty really does without caring about what others think is sit with her at lunch. 

It could be because their parents said she should, but Moira does at least show up to some of Marty’s practices with the cheerleading squad.  Usually, she will have her nose buried in a book or will be getting a start on her homework, but she does show up. 

Sometimes when she listens in on the conversations about her that she overhears, with or without her superhearing, the usual things she hears are,

“Is that Marty Kent’s sister?”

“Who reads books?” 

“You know, if she weren’t so bookish and didn’t have that scary girl vibe, she’d actually be kind of hot.”  Comments like those make it difficult to hide her blushes.  She tends to wear low-cut tops, or at least show a bit of cleavage when she wears buttoned shirts, but still it’s a strange feeling hearing someone call her attractive. 

Unlike her sister, though, she hasn’t formed a circle of friends.  Even Thea and Johnny by now would have had a tight-knit circle of friends, but Moira has learned to find pleasure without the company of others.  Times when she used to complain about her lack of friends, her parents would tell her that she still has her whole life ahead of her.  She’ll find friends someday, but at the same time there’s no law that says she needs to have friends.

The most important thing she can do for herself—or at least one of the most important, according to them—is to be able to show self-respect.  On a cynical note, she asked her parents if it worked for them when they were her age.  She wished she hadn’t.  It must have been a sensitive topic for her parents, leading her to believe that they must have suffered long bouts of loneliness growing up. 

Were the not just the best of friends?  Inseparable save for when they had to go home?  Her parents don’t really like to talk about their childhood too much.  All she could get out of Johnny is that there were long stretches of time when their parents—well their mother and his stepfather—weren’t getting along.  That’s all he could get out of their mother—that and knowing how lonely their mother felt without Moira’s father’s friendship.

Maybe Moira will find herself a friend or two at some point, but so far there hasn’t been anybody she can comfortably have a long conversation with.  Even the people she works with at the Torch feel a bit superficial and haven’t really gotten to a place where she could call them friends.

Also, how can having friends be easy when she has to put up a wall between them?  Pete Ross didn’t know her Dad’s secret until their sophomore year and, according to him, Pete looked at him like a creature from outer space—which he was, but still it was hurtful.  Her mother didn’t find out until their senior year and it wasn’t until after graduation that she knew the full extent of her dad’s secret. 

As her dad would say, “It is difficult, and maybe someday it will be safe to tell somebody that you are really close to our secrets, but that doesn’t mean you have to forget about having friends altogether.”  Moira could hear the underlying pain in her father’s voice when he said those words.  She wishes that his life didn’t have to be so difficult like it was—still is to some varying degree.

If—no _when_ —it happens, it happens.  All Moira can do as her parents always tell her is to be herself.  It feels so ironic though.  She can be herself, but not _all_ of herself.  She can be who she is in every way she can think of, just no powers, no superhero parents, not even her relation to her elder half-brother, Johnny.  Moira—and her twin—are proud that Johnny is their brother and yet they have to keep it a secret.  It’s not the age difference that is the problem; it’s their mother.  How do you explain a woman in her sixties looking like a twenty-five-year-old woman being the mother of a thirty-five-year-old man who also looks twenty-five?

Their mother would become a lab rat in a heartbeat.

So, high school has not been very fun so far.  Unlike her mother, Moira doesn’t really have a place she can go to when everything and everyone lets her down.  Even if she feels she’s making a name for herself, the veterans at the Torch still haze her somewhat.  Sometimes, she’s had to stop her mother from giving those kids a piece of her mind.  The Torch office was a forgotten and disregarded place when Chloe Sullivan stepped into it the first time eons ago—Moira never used that particular word in front of her mother—and now the school newspaper is very exclusive. 

Today she’s just finished up creating a flyer on the school’s website, notifying the students that Homecoming tickets are going on sale.  She checks her watch.  Marty will still be at practice; maybe Moira can go and show up.

“I still can’t believe you wear that kind of watch,” taunts Briana. 

Moira gives her black chrome analog watch with chrome dots in lieu of numbers and with an elastic band and water resistance up to one hundred meters—a gift from Johnny.  Obviously, he could afford a much more expensive watch, but he knew what she liked and that she wanted “something pretty, but not ostentatious.”  Johnny can be extravagant when he wants to be, but he rarely is, but for a few special occasions.  Wherever he bought her watch from, she doesn’t care; she loves it.

Moira glances up through her bangs at one of the other reporters for the Torch.  Briana, a junior with ebony skin and flowing dark hair, she’s probably the only person working in the Torch who is a bit popular.  Moira thinks she might have had the potential to gain popularity like Marty did as they had boys drooling over them when they first arrived at this school, but she’s fallen under the radar a bit.  People know her name, but she’s easily dismissed. 

She smiles up at Briana.  “I still can’t believe you have trouble reading an analog clock,” her and a good number of her peers.  What’s so difficult about reading the hands?  Moira gave up trying to explain her watch to people who should have remembered how to read analog clocks since kindergarten. 

Briana smirks.  “Touché, Kent.  So do you have the flyer for Homecoming up?”

“Up and running,” replies Moira lazily.

Briana shakes her head.  “What’s the matter, you don’t like dances?”

“School dances are overrated,” replies Moira lazily.  “Spending money on dresses you’ll never wear again; girls complaining not getting asked out to the dance; overplayed music dominating the selection; teachers having to guard the drinks; after parties full of mayhem; it’s stupid.  Plus, my parents and a friend of mine had bad experiences at school dances.”  She hates referring to Johnny as “friend of mine.”  The phrase tastes like bile.

Briana seems to consider that for a minute.  For someone who regularly antagonizes Moira, she almost looks sympathetic.  “Why should that mean that you will have a bad experience?” she asks sagely.

Moira blinks up at her several times.  It’s like one of her conversations with Marty all over again up in the loft.  Marty had complained so loudly about Moira’s decision to not go to Homecoming that their parents came out to see what the matter was.  By Marty’s logic, Moira ought to attend so that she would feel less uncomfortable about being there.  Moira understood that, but she just really didn’t want to go.  Their parents told her that if she didn’t want to go, then Marty shouldn’t force her, but she should consider what she’s saying.

Moira considered and her decision hadn’t change.  Nor will it change. 

Eventually she just says, “I just don’t want to go.”

Briana scoffs.  “So you’re just going to toss hay bales all night next week?”

Moira links her fingers as she leans back in her chair.  “No, I’m to watch Netflix and eat popcorn.”  She’s maintaining her composure, but why does she get the feeling that her sister put Briana up to this?

Briana raises an eyebrow.  “Well, maybe you’ll think twice.”

Now Moira scoffs.  “And why would I do that?”

“Because there’s a really hot guy standing outside the door who wants to ask you out,” replies Briana.  She taps the door twice and it opens.  In comes a somewhat tall, buff guy with a strong jaw, upturned nose, piercing gray eyes and a mop of brown hair that looks like it has a little too much product, giving it the appearance of controlled dishevelment that Moira never found overly attractive.  And the guy is wearing a varsity jacket.  So this was that mouth-breather her ears had picked up outside the door. 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” says Briana on her way out the door.

Her fingers still linked together, Moira regards the football player up and down critically.  “And who are you?”

A chuckle rumbles out of the football player.  He seems to Moira like a guy who thinks he knows his way around girls.  “Your sister told me that you’re difficult.”  So Marty was behind this.  “But seriously you don’t know my name?”

“Should I?”

The football player opens and closes his mouth several times without making a sound.  Moira does take pleasure in seeing that she has forced him to rethink what must have been his normal routine for picking up girls.  “I’m the quarterback,” he says flatly.

“Congratulations, Mr. Quarterback,” drawls Moira, throwing up her hands briefly.

The football player scoffs.  “What do you not like football or something?”

“Nope.”

“You’re weird.”

Moira smiles brightly.  “Thank you and you’re rude.  You haven’t even introduced yourself yet.”

“My name is Darius!” the football player snaps, flustered.  “Listen, farm girl, I just wanted to come in here and ask you out to Homecoming.”

“Why should I go?” asks Moira.  “I don’t even know you.” 

Darius shakes his head.  “God, you are so not like other girls.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you could run into a girl who has standards.”

Darius scowls at her.  “Most girls would jump at the opportunity to go out with me.”

“I’m not ‘most girls,’ genius,” Moira reminds him sweetly.  He didn’t know the half of it, but still she hates it when people generalize the sexes.  Not all girls are the same and not all guys are the same.

Darius’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathes hard, making Moira wonder if he’s just huffing and puffing. 

Maybe she should give this guy a break.  “Alright give me a day or two to consider and then call me at this number.”  She gets up and takes his hand and writes her cellphone number on his palm.  “Now I need to go meet with my sister.”  She gathers her things and her messenger bag and on her way out the door, she stops briefly.

“Oh, and Darius,” Darius watches her expectantly.  “Your fly is undone.”  She smiles triumphantly as he hastily zips up his pants.  _Of all the guys_ , she thinks to herself, _and my sister sends me one of the dumbest._   Maybe she ought to see if this mouth-breather is capable of being a gentleman.

If not, then it’s Netflix and popcorn.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

“Oh, Moira…” comes Marty’s singsong voice from the other side of the door.  “Come out, come out and play.”

Moira stares at her door, wishing she had heat vision so she could burn right through it and singe her sister.  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!”  “This” is the Homecoming Dance, accepting Darius’ invite, and getting this dress. 

Three days ago when school ended, on the way home in the school bus, Marty had asked Moira how her encounter with Darius went.  Moira was a bit hurt that Marty didn’t seem to have much to say about Darius’ poor attitude.  By the time she said that she’d think about it and told her that she wasn’t planning on going to the dance, Marty got very upset; she accidentally hit the seat in front of her too hard and put a large dent in it.  The boys in that seat seemed more turned on by Marty’s remarkable strength rather than disturbed by it.  Moira was thankful for that all things considered.  When the bus driver pulled over and inspected the damage, the boys covered for Marty.

Marty sure was scared; the twins agree that she’s the more temperamental one, so she always has to make sure she keeps herself under control.  Part of the reason she even joined the cheerleading squad is because the physical excursions release some of her pent-up energy.  The other cheerleaders know that she’s strong enough to hold somebody up in a pyramid, but they just think it’s because she’s a corn-fed farm girl.  They don’t know that she’s strong enough that she could hold a few of those girls up with just her pinky—assuming she could balance them without mishap. 

When Moira promised to keep the incident on the school bus between the two of them—neither of them wanted a lecture from their mom or dad—Marty calmed down significantly about the whole Homecoming issue.  On their walk up to the house, Marty simply confided in her sister that she wanted have Moira with her when she went to the dance. 

It seems to Moira that so far, they are each other’s only true friend in high school.  Their dad told them that sometimes he wished he had a brother or sister growing up.  Somebody who fully knew what he was going through.  However, he also accepted that it might not have been the same as it is for the twins.  The twins are half-human and due to that there are some limitations to what their Kryptonian physiology has to offer. 

They tire quicker than their dad.  When Marty was testing her superspeed for the first time, running with their dad, she had to stop and gasp for breath after running about eight thousand miles up and down North America.  So she can’t really circumnavigate the globe the way their father can running really fast—at least not yet, in his and their mother’s optimistic eyes.  Like any runner, she has to work at it.  Either way, it seems she’ll always wear out quicker than their dad. 

Then there’s Moira with her superhearing.  Listening in to all the noise around her can make her ears bleed.  Once or twice when their dad had pushed her too far, she actually went deaf for a full twelve hours.  After that, their dad determined that the radius that she can safely listen in on without significant damage is a mile or two.  After that, that’s when her ears start to bleed. 

Finally—beyond their invulnerable skin—there is the power they both share—their strength.  It seems to be the simplest of their superpowers.  It takes a long time before either of the twins start to see stars from physical excursions.  They have not gone out of their way to see how much they could do before they are deflating into their beds from exhaustion, but they can both put in several hours of chores before they even start to feel tired. 

So, beyond the property lines of the Kent farm, or when visitors who are unfamiliar with the depths of the Kents’ secrets are around, they really have to keep themselves in check. 

The way Moira looks at it, it’s like keeping everyone at an arm’s length, wearing whatever you want, exposing all the skin you can before you are sent home for violating dress code—which is very slim to begin with—when really you are always wearing a veil masking who you are.  People can get to know you, try to figure you out, but there’s always that underlying mystery, that hand silently telling them to keep their distance. 

It’s awful and incredibly lonely.

Moira agreed to go to the dance and when she told Darius that she had accepted his invitation, he was surprisingly gentlemanly about it.  He told her that he would pick her up at six-thirty that Saturday.  When she got home and told everyone her bewilderment at his courtesy, she caught her dad stifling a smile.  Did he have something to do with it?  When confronted with the question, he met the eyes of her, Marty and their mother, even little Ryan who didn’t really know what was going. He held up his right hand and said,

“I plead the fifth.”

Ryan asked what he meant by that statement.  Rather than explain to him the Bill of Rights, their mom simply told him that it’s what people say when they don’t want to answer without a group of law people present.  Ryan has basic knowledge about law and he thought that it meant they needed to call the police.  They quickly told him that that would not be necessary.  Ryan can be a bit precocious, but Moira would be worried if he understood everything about what goes on in a court of law at his tender age.

Friday, there came the whole issue about finding a dress to wear.  The twins wished that Johnny was in town; he’s the best at helping find out what to wear for the right occasions.  Their mother agreed.  Even so, she took them shopping for dresses.  The store was packed.  Some of the girls recognized the twins and walked up to them.  Thankfully, they didn’t get them mixed up.  They from the cheerleading squad and ones that Moira knew to be the bitchiest of the pack. 

Marty introduced their mother as their cousin.  It’s never a comfortable experience for the twins introducing their mother.  Their mother never wears anything to make herself look old enough to have fifteen-year-old twins, so they have learned to lie about her relationship to them—albeit reluctantly.  They are proud that Chloe Sullivan is their mother and they hate having to call her “Chloe” in public.  Once or twice they asked Johnny if it gets any easier with time.  It doesn’t; he even called her “Mom” unashamedly as late as his twenties, but then it invited some unwanted attention.

One time, their mother was actually kidnapped and nobody saw her for four months.  During those months, Chloe Sullivan-Kent was kept in a facility while people were experimenting on her, trying to understand the nature of her longevity and youthful appearance despite her age.  When her whereabouts were finally found, Superman, and Johnny who had donned his Purple Arrow costume for the first time in years—which Moira thinks looks pretty cool actually—the facility was destroyed.  J’onn J’onzz wiped all memory of their mother’s existence from her kidnappers’ minds.  Superman and Purple Arrow wanted to do worse in their own ways.  Superman wanted to break all their limbs; Purple Arrow wanted to project enough fear into their minds to drive them to insanity.

Their mother just wanted to go home.  She didn’t leave the house for weeks and nor did their dad.  Even Johnny stayed in town for a couple of weeks.

Still, introducing their mother as their “cousin” Chloe Sullivan feels weird.

When it came to looking for a dress, Moira didn’t feel too reassured about finding one she liked.  Even if their mother reminded them that the dresses didn’t have to look quite as formal as the dresses they wore to Johnny’s charity function, the twins put some thought into what they picked out.  Marty spent considerably less time than Moira searching for a dress.  Marty found herself a cute yellow strapless dress with a knee-length flared skirt.  It really brings out her black hair, if Moira is going to be honest with herself.

Moira spent a longer time finding herself a dress.  Too slutty; too hideous; too colorful; too much of this; too much of that…so much was her indecision that her mother was shaking her head and Marty was tugging at her hair.  Eventually, she got so fed up with everything that she made them wait outside so that she could make a decision without their interference. 

Once they were outside, Moira called Johnny through FaceTime.  Johnny answered on the second ring.  He greeted her cheerily, calling her “Twerp” the way he always does.  It didn’t even make her smile the way it normally did.  He saw that and immediately asked what was wrong.  She described her struggle in full detail.  He was hurt she hadn’t told him earlier about her homecoming date and her reluctance to accept his invitation. 

Johnny joked that if he could make it Smallville in time, he could project the fear of God—or Jonathan Sullivan-Queen—into Darius.  As much as Moira would have loved that, it wouldn’t be necessary.  Plus Marty would give them both an earful.  While still on the phone, Moira slowly walked Johnny through all the dresses.  Johnny said he was having trouble deciding what would go with her best.  It made Moira feel worse; if Johnny is having trouble helping the ladies in his life pick a dress that is really saying something. 

Admittedly it would have been a lot easier if he were actually there with her, but eventually they came upon a deep red one shoulder dress with a knee length skirt and black sequins along the strap and neckline with a narrow path of lacy patterns continuing down to the waist.  Moira liked it.  She thanked Johnny in earnest for the help and promised to tell him all about her dance and how it went.  After hanging up, she called her mother and sister back into the store. 

They both really liked the dress.  Before Moira could stop her, Marty took a photo of her in the dress and uploaded it onto Facebook.

Now, Moira is feeling like she will be lucky if she can even manage to get herself out the door.  Standing in front of her mirror wearing the dress with her short hair crimped, she must admit she looks quite beautiful.  She’s not used to making herself look beautiful like this.  She tries live up to her mother’s beauty with her bob of hair that barely grazes the nape of her neck, but still she feels inadequate.  

“Forget it!” she finally blurts out.  “I’m not going to Homecoming!”

She doesn’t need superhearing to know that Marty has lost it.  Marty screams and then Moira doesn’t even jump as she hears the sound of wood splintering.  She turns around slowly and registers the fist-sized hole in her bedroom door.  Smirking, she struts over to it and peers through the hole at her twin.

“Congratulations, Martha,” she commends her twin with a smile.  “You owe me a new bedroom door.”

Marty breathes hard as she comprehends what she’s done.  “Aah!” she exclaims and stalks off. 

“What is going on?” demands voice of their father. 

Moira walks away from her ruined door and slumps down onto her bed.  Her room is a mess of books, sketchpads—a hobby she picked up from seeing her dad’s paintings in his cabin in Appalachia—a small desk just big enough to accommodate her laptop with enough desk space left over to spread a sketchpad or paper for written homework, her dresser, her closet with a mirror on the door and her bed.

Now her privacy is compromised until further notice, thanks to her twin.

She hears a gentle knock on her door.  “Who is it?” she asks glumly.

“It’s Dad,” replies her father’s voice gently.  “May I come in, sweetie?”

Moira sighs.  “Sure.”

The ruins door swings open and in comes her father, still in a blue flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.  He inspects the door with a shake of his head.  “Hmm, that will coming out of your sister’s allowance.”  His tone is playful, reassuring even, but Moira doesn’t smile.  With a sigh, her father closes the distance between them.  At his questioning eyes, Moira slides over a little and he sits down next to her.  He wraps an arm around her waist and she places her head on his shoulder.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he compliments. 

Despite everything, Moira smiles against her father’s shoulder.  “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of all this?” he asks.  “Nothing says you have to go to this dance.  I didn’t end up going to my homecoming.”

“Wasn’t that because that lunatic strung you up like a scarecrow?” Moira reminds him.  “A tradition that I hear is still a thing?”

A chuckle rumbles out of her father.  “Point taken, squirt.”  He breaks away from her gently and Moira glances up to meet his serious eyes.  “I’m not saying you have to go to the dance, but clearly your sister wants to go.  I would feel a lot more comfortable if you went together.  Besides…” he leans in close so he can whisper in her ear, “You are a lot better at keeping your temper under control and usually Marty keeps herself under control better when you are with her.”

Moira nods.  “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”  She shakes her head.  “I wish our lives weren’t so complicated.”

“Me too, Moira,” her father agrees.  “But you have a family who loves you dearly and even though you spend every day having to hide who you are, you’re not alone.  And I’m sure someday you will find a friend that you can share your secret with.  If you’re lucky you might even find a friend like that sooner than I ever did.  And hopefully their lives won’t become overly complicated because of it.”  Moira gets the feeling he might be referring to how his secret wore down on his friend Pete Ross, who eventually left town because of what his secret cost him.

“So what do you say?” he asks.

Moira’s shoulders rise and fall as she exhales.  “Alright, I’ll go to this stupid dance.”

Her dad smiles pleasantly.  He gets up and offers his hand.  Moira accepts it as she rises to her feet and they leave her bedroom together.  “I’ll get your door fixed as soon as I can,” he promises.

Moira mouths a “thank you” as they head downstairs.  As her mother and sister come into view in the kitchen, from the looks of it, Marty was given a strong reprimand.  Sometimes Moira feels bad for her mother.  She surrounds herself with a bunch of superpowered people and one of them is a full-blooded alien.  The youngest of them, his powers are more erratic and most annoyingly the destruction he causes is easily forgiven.  The twins can’t wait for their little brother to become old enough for his accidents to be less forgiven. 

The youngest always get the most attention.  Moira was born a before Marty was, so she considers herself the middle child.  How does she describe being in the middle?  It’s hard enough dividing her attention with all her sibling—full and half—and sometimes she feels like she gets the most trouble.  Not getting into the trouble the most, but having both older and younger siblings, it feels like everything just crashes down on her in all directions.  One might say that it’s Johnny’s job to be the peacekeeper, him being the eldest, but Moira feels that that job hits her more.  All the drama and she’s always in the middle. 

Sometimes she would just love to step out of the middle literally and let the issues between the older siblings and the younger ones clash with each other directly. 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings.  The first person to answer is little Ryan.  He swings the door open excitedly and from where she’s standing Moira sees Darius and the linebacker who asked Marty out. 

“State your business!” orders Ryan, puffing out his chest and acting all tough and mighty.  It’s actually quite cute.

The football players exchange glances, looking like they are wondering whether to be intimidated or amused by the high-spirited five-year-old.

“We come in peace,” Darius finally says.  The way he says it actually puts a smile on Moira’s face.

“Hmm…” grunts Ryan.  Should Moira ask him to be nice to the poor idiots?

Their mother clears her throat as she steps forward and gently shoos Ryan away.  “I’m sorry, boys,” she apologizes.  “Would you two like to come in?”  Now that Moira has taken to notice, she sees that her mother is wearing prosthetics, making herself look old enough to have fifteen-year-old daughters.

 _Oh, Mom, why did you do that?_ she asks silently.  Now she notices that her father has donned prosthesis of his own.  Actually Moira doesn’t know what to call it.  It doesn’t have the same effects as blue kryptonite, which makes him susceptible to human injury for as long as he wears it, but it’s some sort of crystal he wearing on his finger that allows him to adjust how old he looks. 

Moira’s not sure she will ever fully understand the technology of the Ice Castle—she will never call it the Fortress of Solitude simply because it sounds so dumb to her—up in the Arctic. 

The football players in their nice suits accept Mrs. Kent’s invitation and step into the house. 

“This is a nice house,” says the linebacker, taking in everything around him.

“It’s been in my family for a long time.”  The football players’ attention turns to Clark Kent.  Moira has to fight back a smile.  With or without the prosthesis, her father can be quite intimidating when he wants to be.  He stands by the stairs, raised to his full height with his arms crossed over his chest. 

The football players clear their throats and straighten themselves up. 

“Mr. Kent,” Darius pipes up with a nervous smile.  “My name is Darius and this is my friend, Sam.”  The linebacker called Sam steps forward and offers his hand. 

Moira can’t fight back her smile anymore as her father eyes the hand suspiciously, as if it was covered in kryptonite.  Marty doesn’t seem to be enjoying their father’s obvious hostility to their dates as she noticeably whimpers. 

Finally, their father’s features soften a little and his arms break apart, grasping Sam’s hand welcomingly.  Moira half-expected her father to deliberately squeeze the guy’s hand uncomfortably hard, but upon it looks like he decided not to.  Either that, or Sam is really good at hiding his discomfort.

“You two take care of my girls,” their father commands coldly. 

“Absolutely, sir; we will have them home by ten,” promises Darius.  Moira hates to admit it, but she’s becoming more and more impressed with Darius.  In stark contrast to how rude he was with her in the Torch office, he has been nothing but a gentleman since he walked in the door.  Cynically, she wonders if it’s just a façade meant to help him appear more admirable to the older people.  She does know for a fact that he has never been in detention.  She wonders if it’s because he is well-behaved or because he’s really good at getting himself out of trouble.

“My wife and I will hold you to that,” her father declares.  Moira knows her father doesn’t generally like to hurt people, but she’s not sure she wants to find out what he would do to people who disrespect his family.  She knows he has saved her mother’s life more times than either of them can count.  However, she can’t recall seeing what he has done to protect or defend his children. 

“Okay, so are you two ready to go?” asks Darius.  Moira didn’t take the time to really notice before, but he actually cleaned himself up pretty good.  His hair isn’t as wild, looking combed and groomed and his black and white suit doesn’t appear to have the slightest bit of lint.  Even Sam, who doesn’t really have enough that blonde hair to put a comb through, looks pretty good.  She’s seen the guy’s arms before and she wonders what size suit he had to buy or rent to fit over those tree trunks.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Marty replies for them.  Before Moira can stop her, she grabs her wrist and drags her out the door.  Moira glances back at her parents and they offer her reassuring smiles. 

As they all get into Sam’s four-door pickup, Moira finds herself a bit appalled.  The truck is a mess and there’s a lingering smell of sweat and fast food.  Marty, always needing to speak her mind, asks,

“Never really find much time to clean?” 

Moira’s in the back seat with Darius, who admittedly looks equally uncomfortable about the mess, but she sees Sam’s ears turn red. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he mutters.

“You should hear what his mom has to say about it,” Darius mutters as he leans in close to Moira’s ear.  She actually smiles.

The rest of the trip to the high school is a bit awkward as Marty runs her mouth nonstop about topic after topic and Darius continuously tries making small talk with Moira.

When Darius finally compliments Moira’s dress, she finds herself blushing.  Even if the only word he could form was “wow,” it made her feel really…special.  Sure, it always makes her feel special at the end of the day when her father, or Johnny compliment her, but hearing it from another boy?  It really makes her self-aware.  She’s not sure if she actually likes this guy yet, but so far he’s doing a good job of making her want to like him.

Finally, they arrive at the school.  When they park, before Moira can open her door, Darius gets out and she watches as he comes around and opens the door for her.  Was he really that ashamed of their encounter in the Torch?  She doesn’t mind him trying to be a gentleman, but she sure hopes he doesn’t overcompensate.

After promising to meet up around nine-thirty, Marty and Sam disappear into the building.  Darius offers his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Moira accepts it.  He leads her into the building and she sees that the place has really transformed for the event.   

Balloons are everywhere; people lingering outside the gym where the main event is are clad in colorful suits and dresses.  Everything only intensifies once they step into the gym.  Beads of light reflected off the disco ball dance all over every surface and person; teenagers either dance to the popular song that Moira can’t remember the name of, or are in tight groups of conversation, or are congregating around the food table.  Moira smirks at the teacher guarding the punch.  If she were stupid enough to do it, Marty could slip by and spike the punch so fast that the teacher would only feel is a gust of wind. 

At least Marty has enough sense to not do that.

“Do you want anything?” asks Darius.  Moira snaps to attention and sees him gesturing over to the snacks.  Smiling politely, she shakes her head no. 

“Doesn’t seem strange to you?” he asks.

 Moira frowns.  “What?”

“That they would offer snacks that give people bad breath?”

Moira gapes, but soon smiles.  “I know right?  I mean most people here probably went out of their way to have nice breath and then they eat a cookie and there goes their breath.”

“And I wonder how many of them carry a pack of gum or mints in their purse or pockets,” adds Darius with a grimace.  “Oh, God…”

“What now?”  Moira follows his gaze and sees Sam hovering around the chocolate fountain, loading a paper plate with all manner of junk food.  “Oh, God,” she echoes.

“All hail the Smallville Crows linebacker,” mutters Darius dispassionately.

“I’ll bet his dentist earns a fortune with each visit,” jokes Moira.

Darius laughs as he returns his gaze to her.  He studies her for a minute or two.  “You know you’re not what I’d thought you’d be.”  Moira’s smile disappears and frantically he adds, “W-what I mean is, everyone says you’re just this scary, closed off, and—sorry—bitchy girl and…you’re really not so bad.  You’re actually a bit adorable and funny.”

Moira studies him, looking for any signs of insincerity.  She doesn’t find any.  Finally, she allows herself to smile.  “Thanks.  You’re pretty decent yourself, all things considered.”

Darius’s look turns rueful.  “If you’re talking about that day in the Torch, I’m sorry.  I know it’s no excuse, but I was nervous and rude.  May I make up for it?”

Moira considers him for a moment.  Soon a song she enjoys starts playing and a tightlipped smile spreads across her face.  She takes his hand.  “Let’s dance.”  He lets her lead him onto the dance floor.  “Do you know that waltz?”

Darius shakes his head ruefully.  She figured as much.  Even so, she places her hands around his neck and he nervously settles his hands on her waist.  For a guy who claimed that most girls would kill to go out with him, he’s somewhat of a prude.  It’s actually kind of adorable.  Or maybe even “adorkable” as her mother would say when talking about her dad.

They steal a glance at Sam and Marty briefly.  Actually, they only see Marty, who looks very agitated. 

“I guess things aren’t going to well for her,” surmises Darius, not impolitely. 

“No, I guess not,” _for once_ , Moira fails to add.  Usually, it’s _her_ things turn poorly for.  Now, she’s dancing with an actually very attractive guy and more than a few girls are stealing jealous glances at them.

Their dance is interrupted by the principal getting ready to announce the Homecoming king and queen.  She starts with the Queen.  Everyone listens up as the DJ plays a drum roll. 

“Moira Kent.”

Moira gapes, too stunned to notice as all eyes fall on her including a spotlight.  Who nominated her?  Certainly none of these girls who all look at her like she ought to have been nominated for Biggest Loser.  She steals a glance at Marty in the crowd and she makes a convincing show of innocence.  Then she exchanges glances with Darius who subtly winks down at her. 

She scoffs as she heads up to the stage.  As the vice principal carefully sets the stupid tiara on her head, the principal then announces Darius as homecoming king.  At least it wasn’t some other moron that she’d be forced to dance with.  Briefly, she focuses her hearing on some of the things that people might be saying about her.

“I can’t believe _that_ Kent is Queen?”

“Who in their right mind would vote for _her_?”

“I didn’t think she would get voted for.”

“I was worried, but now she actually looks quite pretty.” 

“Hey, how did this year’s scarecrow take it?”

That catches Moira’s attention.  She focuses her hearing even harder, causing her knees to buckle against the bombardment of sound.  She hardly pays attention as Darius bends down to meet her, wondering what’s wrong.  Feeling blood begin to trickle out of her ears, she eventually pinpoints the sound someone shivering and hopelessly begging for help.  She knows just where to go.

She stops listening in on everything and releases the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.  As her eyes come back into focus, she sees everyone staring at her.  She looks to her left and sees Darius glancing down at her worriedly. 

“Your ears are bleeding,” he says. 

So much for beginning to like this guy as her features to hostile.  “What you know about the scarecrow?” she demands quietly.

Darius gapes down at her, confused.  Then his expression darkens as realization dawns on him.  “I had nothing to do with that,” he says coldly, rising to his feet.  “After everything so far this evening, I can’t believe you would think that little of me.”  With that, he stalks off the stage. 

Ignoring the principal’s questioning gaze, Moira follows suit.  Eventually, she finds Sam and walks up to him.  “So you like to string people up like scarecrows, huh?” she demands, loud enough for people to hear.”

Sam briefly tries to look innocent, but then he laughs.  “It’s just a tradition; it’s not like we injured him or anything.”

Moira loses it, but before she can punch him, somebody else does it for her.  As the puncher recovers, she sees that it’s Darius.  Some of his bangs have fallen out of place.  Darius locks eyes with her.

“I told you, I had nothing to do with it,” he repeats. 

“Darius Saunders,” everyone turns to face the principal.  “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Don’t worry, Principal Briggs,” Darius reassures her politely.  “I was just leaving.” He stalks off. 

Principal Briggs kneels down to the unconscious Sam.  Moira follows after Darius.  She finds him in a darkened hallway, staring at a trophy case.  As she draws nearer, she gets the feeling that it’s best if she keeps her distance.

“You know, I’m actually a bit of an outsider on the team?” he asks without looking at her.  “Sometimes I think they keep me on because I’m one of the better players, but I never got into the rituals the team likes to do.”  Finally he turns to face her.  “One time I actually badmouthed the scarecrow tradition and the guys threatened to string _me_ up.  Maybe it would have been better if I just let them.”

Someone behind Moira laughs.  “You don’t come off as a martyr, Darius.”  Moira whips around and sees Marty, who looks quite agitated.  She has a set of keys dangling from her fingers.  Did she take Sam's keys off of him?

“So are we going to go help a scarecrow, or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was fun. I just think it's so interesting exploring all the things that being half-human/half-Kryptonian might entail. 
> 
> This might be my last chapter for a while. The next month and a half are going to be very busy for me. Eight hours of mandatory overtime each week. Ten hours shifts have turned into twelve hour shifts. I'll try to post at least one chapter each weekend, but if I don't it's simply because I am too mentally exhausted to write. 
> 
> I hope everyone's enjoying this story so far, even if it's turning into a slower burn than I intended.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

As the three teenagers drive to Riley Field, Moira finds herself waiting someone to say something.  From the moment they got into Sam’s truck, someone has yet to break the silence.  Darius, Moira can’t really determine his reasons for silence; she doesn’t know him.  She’s surprised Marty hasn’t broken the silence yet; she has never enjoyed uncomfortable silences and sometimes Moira wonders if there is an “off” button to her voice.  Even sleep can’t seem to shut her up as she snores.  For that, Moira is grateful that she has her own bedroom.  Finally, Moira herself hasn’t broken the silence simply because she doesn’t know what to say.  She’s always been the more soft-spoken of the Kent twins.  

Even so, she wants to say something, but doesn’t know _what_ to say.  She wants to comment on the dance.  She wants to thank Darius for actually being a gentleman to her so far, even though their first encounter was a disaster.  She wants to ask why he’s taking the whole scarecrow shenanigan a little more personally than necessary.  Did the threat of being the scarecrow, being put through that potentially traumatizing humiliation, scar him a little?  Did it leave him with the need to bend to other people’s expectations instead of being himself? 

She would like to think that the way he’s acted with her so far this evening is the real him.  Maybe if it weren’t for their first encounter, she wouldn’t feel so cynical—but not what she would call “Aimee Marek-Queen level” cynical where she would have a general distrust of everyone around her save for the people she loves.  Still, she’s finding herself hoping that the way he’s treated her this evening is how he really is.

“I was having a good time!” everyone jumps.  Up until Marty’s exclamation, the car had been virtually silence save for the hum of the engine.  “Sam and I danced, talked, even made out and—”

“Wait a minute,” Moira cuts her off.  “ _Sam kissed you_?” she asks slowly, making sure that she has each word right.

In the back seat, Marty with her arms crossed over her chest kind of like when their parents don’t give her what she wants shrugs.  “He clearly needed a breath mint from all that junk food he kept shoveling into his mouth, but he’s a really good kisser.”

“Haven’t heard _that_ one before,” Darius mutters under his breath.

Marty scoffs as Moira watches her fix her gaze on the rearview mirror.  “Jealous?  Sam tells me that you’ve never even had a girlfriend.”

Moira turns to Darius who rolls his eyes.  “You make it sound like a crime,” he comments derisively.  “Sure I have been on a few dates, but—”

“But you just have relationship issues?” Marty surmises mockingly.

 _Do you want me to slap you, sister?_ Moira thinks but doesn’t say.

Darius simply smiles.  “You could say that?” he admits.  It doesn’t seem like Marty was expecting that answer though.  “I simply haven’t found the right girl.  Or I am annoyed with how most of my dates seem solely interested in my looks.  Or if you prefer, I just haven’t found the time for a girlfriend.  But I promise you, I am _very_ respectful of women.”

Moira almost scoffs.  She wonders if Darius senses it because he surreptitiously shoots her a guilty look.  If he’s so respectful, why was he so rude when he first tried to ask her to the dance?  Was he already having a bad day and a more than a little short-fused?  Or is he completely delusional and thinks he is respectful and pretends to be once in a while when really he’s just a scumbag?

Maybe, she’s getting a little too analytical.  Her mother tells her that she gets it from her.  Her mother compares it to times when she would interview and investigate people and would find herself wondering if they were genuine or simply putting up a façade to appease the public.  She tells Moira that it’s not a crime to be analytical, but she must be cautious.  She might just end up hurting those that she’s analyzing before really getting to know them.

Moira wonders how often that happened between her parents prior to her mother finding out her dad’s number one secret. 

The truck falls silent again as they drive to the field.  Being in farmland, there are very few streetlamps and headlights can only light up so much.  Some vehicles come with a feature on the windshield that works like night vision.  All someone has to do is activate it via a switch on the dashboard.  However it is an expensive feature and some consider it pointless as headlights are still a mandatory feature on all vehicles.  Why can’t things stay simply?  What’s wrong with simply relying on the bright lights for when it’s dark and there are no other cars around?

Moira has little to no interest in cars or car manufacturing.  Johnny drives expensive cars as he can afford them (though he still doesn’t go for the _most_ expensive cars as per his personal preferences) but beyond having a general knowledge on how to take care of his cars, he has no interest in them either.

Eventually, they pass a sign showing the edge of the Riley field property line.  Darius pulls over to the side of the road and turns off the car. 

“Okay, is there is a flashlight back there?” he asks.

Marty rummages around.  “Ah-ha!” she exclaims as one of her hands appears with a large flashlight.  “People still use these things?”

“They are a lot more useful than the ones on our cellphones things like camping and hiking,” Darius replies, sounding a little defensive.  “Also, as least they don’t use up your phone’s battery.”

“Seems like a moot point since we happen to be in one of those areas in town with little to no signal,” Marty retorts. 

If they are going to bicker so much, Moira feels that maybe _they_ should date each other.  The three of them get out of the car and start shuffling through the fields.  It is not long before Marty starts complaining about her shoes getting ruined.  It’s moist, but not muddy.  She might get a little dirt on her shoes, but nothing that can’t be washed off. 

Although, Moira does have to admit, she would prefer not to get her shoes dirty either.  In fact, before they even started walking into the fields, she took her shoes off and left them in the truck. 

“This is stupid!” Marty complains.  “I can’t believe I agreed to do this.”

“I thought you were a farm girl,” Moira reminds her dryly.

Marty stops in her tracks and shines the flashlight in Moira’s face.  “Yes I am a farm girl,” she spits.  “I also like to be prepared for the right occasions.  This—” she gestures around—“is meant for work boots, not fifty-dollar pumps!”

“I thought you wanted to help some poor freshman,” Moira chides.  “That freshman could have been you or me!  And you know as well as I do how much being strung up like a scarecrow traumatized Dad!”

Marty scoffs.  “Well unless somebody has what they need to keep up tied up, we should be grateful!”

Moira’s nostrils flare.  “Oh, so we should just disregard some poor person because we can handle ourselves against a group of bullies?”

A smile spread across Marty’s face as if a light bulb lit up in her head.  “We’re girls, remember?  Girls don’t become scarecrows.”

That hits Moira’s last nerve.  She advances on her sister, but just as quickly, finds herself blocked by Darius.

“WOULD YOU TWO JUST SHUT UP?” he screams.  “You two bicker more than my parents ever did!  Keep it up and you two might as well kiss and make up!  Now I am trying to fix something that the senior football players put together.  You two can both shut up and help me, or you two can go wait in that filthy truck!”  Darius breathes hard, his grey eyes are wild, his hair that was so neatly combed is coming undone and some of his bangs have fallen into his eyes.  Moira doesn’t feel that he pulls it off quite as well as her older brother, but it does look pretty cute.

Darius must take the twins’ mutual silence as answer enough.  Without another word, he turns around and starts leading the way again.  As they walk, Moira begins to feel her heartbeat quicken. 

Walking in a cornfield in the dark save for a flashlight isn’t exactly something she is very comfortable with.  Ever since that one time when she was eight, she thinks, when she got lost in a cornfield, she’s been afraid of going into cornfields at night.  It took her dad all night to find her.  The reason why it took him so long, when he could have just scanned the place with his x-ray vision or focused on her heartbeat was because there were solar flares the day before and his powers were still on the fritz.  So, for ten hours Moira huddled, frightened and cold in a cornfield not knowing where to go, wondering why her daddy hadn’t saved her yet. 

Ever since then, Moira hasn’t been able to really be in a cornfield at night.  Not without someone with her, at least.

Marty must sense her discomfort as she reaches out and grasps her arm affectionately.  Moira shoots her a questioning glance.  Marty winks and Moira mouths a “thank you.”

Eventually, the corn thins out into a clearing.  Still holding the flashlight, Marty slowly searches the area.  Soon the beam of light falls upon the unmistakable outline of a scarecrow. 

“Oh, my God,” Moira hears herself say.  The whole aspect of the scarecrow prank is bad enough, but what they see is just…wrong.  There strapped to the pole like a scarecrow—or like a crucified person—is a _girl_.  Pale, flawless, brown hair that barely reaches the nape of her neck the girl just hangs there and she looks unconscious.  To make things worse, as per the tradition, she is stripped down to her underwear, but her bra is missing.  A girl is hanging topless in the middle of a cornfield with an “S” painted on her chest. 

“Oh my God,” Darius breathes.  The twins come up beside him and see that he’s just staring.  Moira almost slaps him for being a pervert, but then she really sees the look on his face.  It’s not perverted.  She sees anger, sadness, and worry all rolled into one. 

He rushes over to the girl and starts pulling at the knots at her wrists and ankles.  “Don’t just stand there; help me with this!” the way he shouts it, the unadulterated anger in his voice, makes the twins jump.  Even so, they rush over and start pulling at the knots.  They come undone almost like tissue paper under their enhanced strength.  Once the girl is loose, they carefully lift her down and Darius takes off his coat, covering her.

The twins step back as Darius cradles the girl in his arms.  He shakes her gently.  “Come on, Em, wake up.”

The girl named Em—short for Emma?—slowly wakes up and begins shivering.  Her eyes open—eyes that look as grey as Darius’s—and wander.  When they settle on Darius, they widen.

“Darius?” she breathes.  Her voice sounds pretty deep for a girl’s.  It almost reminds Moira of Tess Mercer’s voice. 

A smile spreads across Darius’s lips.  “I’m here, sweetie.”  The girl throws her arms around his neck and begins shaking with sobs.  Darius holds her against him firmly, shushing her affectionately.  He looks up at the twins and registers their questioning, albeit uncomfortable looks.  “This is my sister, Emma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not one for spoilers much, but I will say that a certain reunion is coming up real soon.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chloe is grading papers when she sees the pickup truck pull up to the property.  “Was the dance that bad?” she wonders out loud.  The dance isn’t supposed to end for another hour.  Her phone rings and by the ringtone, she knows who it is.

“Moira, what’s going on?” she asks as she answers.

“Is Ryan in bed?” asks Moira.

Chloe frowns.  “Yeah, what’s the matter?”

“Don’t ask me why, but please grab one of your shirts,” Moira requests.

Chloe gapes into the phone.  Before she can disobey her daughter’s request, Moira hangs up.  Not knowing what else to do, she runs—quietly—upstairs and goes to her bedroom.  Within, she finds Clark sitting on the bed with a book.  She’s momentarily surprised that he’s in here instead of the loft in the barn.  She assumes he was expecting to be there when she was ready to head to bed. 

His eyes lift from his book.  “And here I was hoping we could make love before the twins got home,” he laments.  So that was his plan.  If Chloe is going to be honest with herself, she wishes that things could have worked out that way as well.

Not offering him an explanation, she opens the closet and selects the first shirt she finds.  It’s a blue satin blouse with capped sleeves.  Maybe a little too professional, but Moira’s tone sounded urgent.  With the shirt in hand, Chloe leaves the bedroom again, not even offering her husband a second glance.

As she reaches the stairs, the front door swings open.  Chloe stops dead in her tracks at the sight before her.  The twins come in first and Chloe observes them, starting from their feet and slowly working her way up.  Their shoes are filthy, like they have been walking through dirt; with Moira it’s less obvious because of her dress’s darker color, but Marty’s dress has a bunch of nicks.  It looks like they were in a cornfield.  Why were they in a cornfield?

“You asked me to get this shirt?” Chloe reminds Moira questioningly.

The twins step apart and in comes Moira’s date, Darius, and…

A gasp escapes Chloe’s lips as she covers her mouth in horror with her free hand.  “Oh, my God!” she exclaims.  A girl who looks about the twins’ age with a mop of brown hair that reminds Chloe of her husband’s hair and grey eyes like Darius’s, this girl must be his sister.  And underneath the suit coat she sees that she is topless.  Not only that, she sees the outline of was is unmistakably and “S.”

Without another word, she rushes the rest of the way to the girl.  “Hi, what’s your name?” she asks gently as she puts an arm around her and steers her to the nearest bathroom. 

“Emma,” the girl replies shakily.  She looks down, probably trying to hide her embarrassment.  “I’m sorry to barge in like this.”

“Don’t apologize,” Chloe chastises sweetly.  They come up to the bathroom door and, after accepting the shirt, Emma goes in and closes the door behind her.  Chloe returns to the den and sees Clark offering everyone drinks.  She doesn’t smell coffee, so her safest guess is that he’s offering them water.

“So what happened?” asks Clark, taking a seat across from the twins.  Chloe goes to sit beside him. 

“With the dance or with Emma?” asks Marty.

Chloe frowns at her.  She knows how much she doesn’t appreciate her answering their questions with a question.

“Your daughter, Moira was being crowned Homecoming Queen and…” begins Darius.

Chloe and her husband gape.  She doesn’t know about Clark, but Chloe fixes her eyes on her daughter.  Moira glances down in her lap as her cheeks redden. 

“Congratulations, sweetie,” Clark praises, which only makes Moira’s cheeks turn a brighter red. 

“So you were saying?” asks Chloe, trying to get back on topic. 

“Your daughter’s ears started bleeding and then she started asking about the scarecrow.  I had nothing to do with that,” he adds quickly, registering the adults’ accusing glances.  “We decided to help the scarecrow and then…” his voice becomes softer, sad even.  “That girl, Emma is my sister.” 

Chloe covers her mouth.  So her assumption was correct.  As she sees Darius fighting back emotion, all she wants to do is hug the poor guy.  Something else is bothering her.

“I thought the scarecrow prank was only done to freshman boys,” says Clark, voicing Chloe’s thoughts.

Darius shakes his head.  “I thought so too.”  He sighs heavily and Marty offers him to sit down.  He takes a seat between the twins.  Chloe almost laughs inwardly as how tentative he is.  After the things Moira told her about him, she assumed he would be less timid about sharing a couch with a couple of very beautiful girls.  The said twins sure don’t like her reminding them that they are beautiful, even if Marty tends to exploit her beauty more than her sister.

“My sister is a tomboy,” Darius states simply.  “Denim jackets; absolutely obsessed with sports and video games; usually shops for clothes in the guys’ section, and even her voice is naturally pretty deep.”

“And those dirt bags didn’t even know I was a girl right away.”  Chloe turns around to see Emma wearing her blouse.  “I thought they would leave me alone once they saw I had boobs, but as one of them put it, ‘Nah, let’s string _him_ up.  And leave the bra; guys don’t wear bras.’”  She starts sniffling and Darius gets up, walking around the couches and taking his sister in his arms.  “They left my pants, socks, and shoes, but they took my shirt and bra,” she sobs. 

“Do you want us to call the police?” Clark offers, gently.

“And tell them what, Mister…”

“Please call me Clark,” Clark corrects her.

“What am I supposed to tell the cops, _Clark_?” demands Emma.  “That a group of football players led by the linebacker who is bound to get a full ride to MetU were doing an annual prank on a _girl_?  Do you really think they will believe me?”

“If the tradition is still the same, you have an S painted on your torso,” Clark offers. 

Emma breaks away from her brother and sighs heavily as she rakes a hand through her hair.  “You seem like a nice guy, Clark, but I’m already humiliated enough.  I just want to go home.”

“Shouldn’t you at least tell your parents?” offers Chloe.

“Our parents died on Meteor Monday; we live with our uncle,” explains Darius.

Chloe doesn’t have to glance at her husband to know the wave of guilt that passes over him.  She still can’t seem to convince him that the meteor shower in Metropolis wasn’t his fault.  “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes in earnest.

Darius and Emma smile. 

“It’s not your fault,” says Darius tightly.  Chloe can tell that the loss of his parents is still fresh on his mind.  “And lately, I’ve been thinking that it’s not Superman’s fault either.”

Chloe hears a sharp intake of breath and she glances at her husband.  Hopefully these children don’t put two and two together.

“The size of that meteor shower, even if Superman wasn’t rusty, he couldn’t have stopped all those meteors,” says Darius.  He laughs softly.  “I might be trying to convince myself that more than anybody, but at least that’s how our uncle puts it.”

Chloe knows that Clark wishes he _could_ have stopped all those meteors.  She also thinks that he’s resisting the urge to get up and hug Darius.

“We should be getting home now,” says Darius. 

“What are we going to do about the truck?” asks Marty.  “I thought it was Sam’s truck.”

Chloe and her husband exchange glances.  Did their daughters steal someone’s truck? 

“I’ll tell you what, Darius,” Clark begins.  “You and your sister drive the truck back to the school and I’ll follow you in my truck.  Then I’ll drive you both home.” 

Chloe glances at Darius and Emma.  A polite smile spreads across Darius’s face.  “Thank you, Clark.”

“No problem.”  Clark gets up and grabs his jacket and keys by the door.  “After you two,” he invites as he opens the door.  Their two unexpected visitors walk out the door, staying very close to each other.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Clark promises his family.

“Don’t rush,” Chloe reminds him, blowing him a kiss.  As Clark makes a motion of catching it and touching his lips, the twins groan.

“You just had to do that in front of us,” Moira whines.

“Mm, yup,” replies Clark, followed by blowing kisses to his daughters.  Ignoring their groans, Clark heads out the door, offering his wife on last smile before closing the door behind him.

“Be safe,” Chloe implores, knowing he will hear her.  She doesn’t know why, but lately, she’s been growing more and more wary every time he walks out the door. 

 

***

 

Clark follows Darius and Emma across town.  He keeps a safe distance between the two vehicles.  He has the windows rolled up and the radio turned off, so the only sound he hears is the hum of the truck.

He feels so bad for Emma.  One memory he could never get rid of is being strung up like a scarecrow and hanging helplessly.  What made it all the worse was he had been wearing Lana Lang’s kryptonite necklace.  He didn’t know what is was at the time, only that being around those green rocks made him sick and left him in horrible pain.  Then, hours later, he was freed by his then-friend Lex Luthor. 

Clark’s evening was ruined when all he wanted to do was share a dance with his childhood crush.  At least his best friends, Chloe and Pete got to have a good time.  He still never told them that they were almost electrocuted that night.  He smiles to himself as he thinks of how he stacked the football players’ pickup trucks.  For stringing up that poor helpless girl, the thought of stacking these football players’ trucks like a house of cards crosses his mind. 

Maybe he shouldn’t.  Unlike when he was fourteen, people are more aware and some might correctly assume it was Superman’s doing.  He’s not the only person in the world with super-strength—he actually knows a few people in town who do have super-strength due to meteor infections—but the only person people might think of would be Superman.  Still, the thought of it puts a smile on his face.  He could sneak into the locker rooms and pop all the footballs.  If he does it right, it could look like someone slashed all of them with farming tools. 

Then again, this Darius is on the football team and so far he seems to be proving to be one of the nicer ones.  Based on everything Moira said about him, as well as recent revelations, he wonders if his attitude was his way of dealing with the deaths of his parents…or not dealing. 

He wishes he could have saved more lives.  Even Clark Kent has to remember sometimes that Superman cannot save everyone.  It seems that these two teenagers understand that better than he is…or at least they are trying to. 

As the school draws nears, Clark sees that something is off.  He sees an orange glow and fire trucks.  It can only mean one thing:  the high school is on fire.  Darius must see it too, because he speeds up.  Clark makes a show of not keeping up as he slowly brings his truck to a stop.  Once he pulls off the side of the road, he focuses his hearing on the situation.

He hears screaming.  He hears coughing.  Students and teachers crying for help.  He also hears firefighters and from the looks of it as he focuses a combination of his telescopic and x-ray vision, he sees they are trying to get into the gym.  Before he can ask himself why they haven’t gotten into the gym yet, he hears,

“We’ve tried all the exits, chief,” the firefighter yells into the headset inside his mask.  “It’s like they’ve all been welded shut.”

Clark gapes.  “ _Welded_ shut?” he repeats incredulously.  Despite his wonder, he wastes no more time as he gets out of the truck at full speed.  He feels grateful that he thought to wear his suit underneath his clothes today.  He speeds out of his clothes and Superman emerges.

He flies into the air and stops maybe twenty or thirty feet from the building.  He doesn’t need to focus his hearing to know that a few people have spotted his presence.  The entire building is in flames.  Some of the outer windows have already shattered against the pressure.  Places where there are no visible flames, smoke is seeping out like the steam from a teakettle.  It looks like most of the flames are near the gymnasium, where the homecoming dancegoers are.  Thinking quickly, he tries to decide the best way to handle this.  There are still people inside so he can’t just _blow_ out the fire without a few people getting caught in the dying flames.  Luckily, this school has changed very little since his graduation, besides a number of technological upgrades; he knows the building like the back of his hand.

He bursts into superspeed and everything else just stops moving.  He blasts through the doors of the school and navigates his way through the school.  Just about every surface is on fire.  It’s like somebody doused every surface of the school in gasoline or whatever then lit a match.  This is arson; it has to be.  Taking a deep breath, Clark focuses strong bursts of his freeze-breath towards the flames.  A thin layer of ice forms all around as the flames die, clearing a safe path as he rushes to the gym.

At last, he arrives at one of the doorways leading into the gym.  True the firefighter’s words, it looks like the doors were welded just.  Not just the middle where the two doors meet, but also the hinges.  The doors might as well have been become a part of the wall.  Clark sees the frightened teenagers trying desperately to get out.  They have even managed to break the glass slits on the doors.  A few of them spot him and they scream for his help. 

Clark comes up to the doorway and quickly quiets down the teenagers.

“Now it looks like I’m going to have to melt these doors a little, so everyone _please back away from the doors_ ,” he commands emphatically. 

Despite their panic, the teenagers back away from the doors.  Clark aims for the outlines of the doors and activates his heat vision as hot as he can.  As Clark melts the doors, he wonders how it would look in the media if people knew how his heat vision came about.  More than most of his powers, it’s directly connected to his hormones.  It might make for some embarrassing parodies while people speculated what thoughts could be running through his mind when using his heat vision. 

At one point in his life, thoughts of Lana Lang were the trigger.  Then it was Lois Lane.  Finally, during what he still considers to be the happiest part of his life, all he needs to do is to think of his wife, Chloe.  He doesn’t even have to picture her naked body to so much as get an erection.

For right now, Clark thinks of a time when Chloe posed naked in the natural pool near his cabin in Appalachia and it’s enough to make his heat vision burn white-hot.  Clark barely finishes melting the doorway before the doors fall out of place.  As they do, even though Clark had been freezing a safe path for the teenagers and adults, a violent rush of heat comes out. 

Some of these children are not going to be able to run out on their own.  Not even waiting to give them any warning, Clark begins grabbing people at random and rushing them out of the building as fast as he possibly can.  Some of them, he had to extinguish as their clothes or their skin caught fire.  Sometimes, Clark wishes he knew the sensation of being on fire, if only to be able to empathize with burn victims.  He has gotten bad press for appearing reckless in the past when it comes to disasters like this.  Over the years, with the help and encouragement of the people in his life, he has learned to be careful with people and do things as fast as he can at the same time. 

Even as Clark moves as fast as he can, emptying the burning building, he realizes the place isn’t going to hold out much longer.  Without meaning to, he becomes more frantic and possibly even faster.  Eventually, there are only two people left.  Worried about the rapidly deteriorating integrity of the school’s structure, Clark grabs them both and flies them out.  Ignoring the applause from the onlookers witnessing the school fire, Clark focuses his attention on the building.  Some of it is going to come down either way, but if he’s careful, there still should be a larger amount of the building intact.  He can’t blow too hard; he might just make matters worse.  It would put out the flames, but it might make the place collapse. 

Clark runs all these scenarios through his head so fast, he almost gives himself a headache.  In fact, many years ago, he took up chess.  The strategizing, the split-second decisions made when playing speed-chess, it’s greatly improved his ability to assess situations.  Lex wasn’t always a humble opponent and Johnny is a very skilled opponent.  Johnny doesn’t always beat him, but he’s a very unpredictable player, never using the same strategy twice in a row.  It’s helped Clark make decisions in the face of unpredictable predicaments such as this fire. 

He’s going to have to blow it out.  Taking a very deep breath, Clark begins going through the building again.  He releases his breath at a controlled amount and soon all the fires are dying, leaving behind rubble in the places that have already collapsed and lots of smoke.  When he runs out of breath, Clark exits the ruined building and drops to the ground, heaving huge gulps of air.   

The students of Smallville High are not going to be going to school for a while. 

The onlookers erupt into applause and Clark allows himself a small smile.  He doesn’t need to focus his hearing to hear and see people hugging and crying into each other’s shoulders.  Parents and loved ones who have arrived on the scene embrace the teenagers they almost lost.  It’s not long before people and the firefighters begin to approach Clark.  He never liked how people seem to worship him like this, approaching him like he’s some sort of Jesus Christ figure having been resurrected (something that Clark feels has happened to him in his life more times than what should be fair).  Still, it is comforting to know that despite wishing he could have saved more of the school, these people still praise him for his efforts. 

He saved everyone in that building.  That’s all that really counts, isn’t it?  Clark knows Chloe would think so.  His parents would have thought so.  He tries not to dwell on thoughts about his parents.  His father died before he even saw him become the hero he was meant to be—although he is grateful that he wasn’t there to witness some of the mistakes he’s made in the past.  His mother died before she saw him marry the woman that he finally came to realize she subtly—or not so subtly—urged him to give a chance. 

These people who are reaching out to touch him or thank him in earnest for saving their child or sibling…they don’t realize just how difficult Superman’s life is.  The trials he had to go through.  The heartache he’s suffered.  Even the people who have gone so far as to sell Superman merchandise.  The Superman comics that Chloe used to read to Johnny when he was a kid, it was a one-time print sold to Oliver Queen.  Clark felt that that version came too close to the truth of the man behind the cape and blue tights and Oliver had made surreptitiously made sure that that version never made it to the public.

The copies that Chloe read to Johnny were the only copies ever printed.  Clark knows that, even though he doesn’t read them anymore, Johnny keeps them in excellent condition.  They would sell for a hefty price if they ever made it to auction.  

These people, they all worship a façade.  At one point in his life, Clark felt that Superman was his true identity, but then he started a family.  Superman is the façade and Clark Kent is his true identity.  Away from the crowd, Clark spots Darius and Emma.  Remembering he had promised to drive them home, Clark gently removes himself from the crowd and shoots into the sky.  He feels that it might have been one of his less dramatic exits, but he doesn’t care.

He grabs his clothes and returns to his truck.  Starting the engine, he quickly drives up to the school. 

Darius and Emma spot him and approach him. 

“Where’ve you been?” asks Darius.

Clark thinks up an excuse as quickly as he can.  When he opens his mouth though, his speech stumbles. 

“Are you afraid of fire?” asks Emma, not unkindly.

He’s afraid of what fires can do to people.  “Yes.”

“It’s okay; Superman put out the fire, but not before he saved everyone,” Darius explains, marveling Superman’s handiwork.

 _I wish I could have saved_ your _family_ , Clark would love to say.  Instead he clears his throat.  “So, should we get going?”

Darius helps his sister into the truck before getting in and Clark started the engine back up.  Darius directs him to one of the more upscale neighborhood in town.  Silently, Clark wonders why he always seems to be running into wealthy people in his life.  However, Darius gave him their uncle’s name, Walter Grimes, and he knows for a fact that the man is not a billionaire.  A wealthy small-town lawyer, but certainly no billionaire. 

Clark arrives at the large house and as he pulls up, a man who he assumes to be Darius and Emma’s Uncle Walter comes out.  He looks justifiably curious as to why some stranger is parking in front of his house, but the Darius gets out of the truck.  Walter sees him and closes the distance between them.

Clark gets out of the truck and watches the exchange between the man and his niece and nephew. 

“I saw on the news that the school was on the fire I got so worried,” Walter spews out as Emma hugs him.  “I’m so glad you two are safe.”  Eventually he notices Clark standing beside his truck and he breaks away from his niece and nephew. 

“Who are you?” asks Walter.

“Uncle Walt, this is Clark Kent,” Darius introduces for him.

Clark extends his hand and Walter takes it in both of his, shaking it so violently, he might as well be trying to dislocate his arm. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Kent,” Walter dribbles out.  Clark is finding it difficult to picture this man as a shrewd lawyer as per his reputation.  Then again, Clark has seen Chloe in a similar state when worrying about their children. 

“I’m glad that I could bring them home safely,” Clark says. 

“Did you pull them out of the fire?”

Clark almost denies it, which would be his honest answer, but then he realizes that he probably smells like he’s been in a fire.

“Oh, no, I…I was having a campfire with my wife and son,” he explains slowly.  “My daughters came by my house with your niece and nephew and I offered them a ride home.”  The best lies are the ones with the most truth in them, as Clark has constantly reminded himself of all his life.

“Thank you,” Walter thanks him again.  “Um, would you like anything to drink?”

“No thank you,” Clark refuses politely.  If he’s honest with himself, he’s tired of people feeling like they need to offer some sort of reward for his efforts as Clark Kent or Superman.  He remembers that time when he first met Lex Luthor and he went so far as to buy him a brand new truck.  “I really should be getting home.”

Walter seems disappointed, but he accepts all the same.  “Oh, okay, well then have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Grimes,” Clark says with a smile.  He inclines his head towards Darius and Emma and heads back around to get into his truck. 

Once he is on the road again, Clark finally allows himself to pat himself on the back.  Being thanked for the things Superman does is one thing, but being thanked for the things he does as Clark Kent is arguably a better experience.  Everyone knows what Superman can do, but not everyone knows that Clark Kent can help somebody once in a while. 

So caught up in the euphoria is he that he doesn’t see that there is something in the middle of the darkened road.  It’s a spike strip.  He sees it too late and the truck runs over it.  The effect is immediate.  The truck jerks and soon it is tumbling.  This doesn’t hurt him in the slightest, but it is extremely uncomfortable being thrown around, not to mention the damages he will have to pay if the truck isn’t totaled.  Then there would be having to buy a new truck.  Johnny would no doubt offer to pay for it, or even Chloe might pay for it with the money she still has from her share of Oliver Queen’s fortune.  All in all, it’s going to be a lot of money that he would rather have not had to spend. 

The truck finally stops tumbling as it lands in a ditch on its hood.  Coughing, Clark tears off the jammed buckle and crawls out of the truck.  Scraping off broken glass from his clothes with his hand, he inspects the damage.  The truck isn’t totaled, but it going to be a few hundred or a couple thousand dollars’ worth of repairs.

As he positions himself to turn the truck back over, Clark hears something.  It’s somebody clapping slowly.  Curious, he turns around and he stops dead in his tracks.  Still clapping slowly, the man emerges from the darkness.  Not the attire Clark would have expected.  Instead of some sort of trench coat as he remembers, there is a tailored suit and shoes shined to the point that they glitter in the moonlight.  He is clean-shaven and his hair is trimmed in a very business-professional cut.

“Well, Kal-El that was a very impressive performance if I do say so myself,” the compliment is so genuine that Clark almost lets his guard down.

“Zod,” he breathes.

A smirk spreads across Zod’s face as he stops a respectable distance away from Clark.  “I’ve missed you too, Kal-El.”


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Clark couldn’t believe his eyes.  Zod shouldn’t be here.  How is he here?  Who in their right mind would release him from the Phantom Zone?

“Don’t worry, Kal-El,” says Zod with a chuckle and wave of his hand.  “I had about the same reaction when I escaped the Phantom Zone before its destruction.”

That only makes Clark’s eyes widen further.  The Phantom Zone is gone?  Why is he only just finding this out?  Who all besides Zod escaped?  Who would destroy the Phantom Zone?  How would they have destroyed the Phantom Zone?

A chuckle escapes Zod’s lips.  “Oh, Kal-El, please stop looking at me like that.  You’re making yourself look more and more ridiculous by the minute.”  Being strangely friendly, Zod gives Clark a minute or two to regain his posture.  It feels like forever as Clark just stands there, not being able to move or utter a word.

When he doesn’t say anything, Zod begins walking around aimlessly.  “You’ve been to the Phantom Zone a few times in your life, haven’t you?”  He doesn’t wait for Clark’s answer.  “I’m sure you remember the harsh conditions, the unsetting suns, the phantoms themselves roaming around and forcing you to sleep with one eye open…I doubt you can relate.  I’ve spent more time there than anyone should have to endure.

“Every day was the same.  I woke up, sometimes with a whore or two, I went about each day just ruling over a group of prisoners desperate to stay away from the bodiless phantoms.  It wasn’t easy, getting all those miscreants to listen to me.  Especially after you and that other man—what was his name?—not that I care, but after you two left me and everyone there for dead with no way out, many were upset.” A mirthless laugh escapes Zod’s lips.  “And they all blamed me.

“They all hoped that the son of the man who condemned many of them to the Phantom Zone in the first place would die by my hands.  I guess I was having a little too much fun when I forced you and your friend into a gladiatorial battle.”  Clark remembers sparring with Oliver Queen, a battle that left them both bloody.  “I got too carried away and before I could stop it from happening, you escaped and closed the door forever.”

Zod quits walking around and faces Clark.  “Have you any idea what it was like?  Being stuck in a place and knowing that you could never leave?  Do you know what it’s like to have everyone to turn against you because they need someone to blame for their misfortune?”   Clark’s honest answer to that last question is yes.  There were a number of times over the years where Clark found himself having to redeem himself and win back the public.  There were times when he was painted a monster rather than a hero.  People still debate whether he’s a hero or a villain.  Some still worry that Clark might just turn his back on humanity and actually “rule” the earth as he once misinterpreted his biological father’s messages.

All those answers…and Clark doesn’t say anything.

“A few times I was almost killed in that Phantom Zone,” now Zod is actually starting to sound emotional.  “I killed each and every one of my would-be killers, but not always in one piece.” Clark x-rays Zod and true to his word, beneath his clothes, Zod is covered in scars.  He looks as if he’d been stabbed, flogged, slashed, and even scourged over and over again.  It reminds Clark of some of those grisly statues of slaves and their backs so heavily scarred they look like cross-stitches.

“But, no matter, Kal-El,” continues Zod, as if noticing Clark’s observations.  “With each passing day, week, or year—I gave up trying to tell how much time had passed—I grew more and more resilient.  And you know what always kept me going?  You know what stopped me from killing myself every waking hour?”  Clark thinks he already knows the answer.

“You,” Zod states contemptuously.  “I can’t tell you how many times, or how many ways I have thought of killing you.  It kept me going in the worst of times.”  Zod pauses, looking thoughtful.  “Now that I think of it, I think one of my favorite ways, in the event that you had some children of your own, was making you watch as I forced your children to eat their own roasted extremities.”

Now Clark seems to have found his voice as his expression turns dark.  He lifts a finger, his eyes blazing with the desire to ignite his old foe.  “You stay away from my family,” he warns in a low growl.

Zod gapes.  “Oh, has ‘Superman’ found his voice finally?  Oh, no please, it’s really quite sweet to see that the thought of any harm coming to your family would elicit such…anger,” he adds quickly as Clark advances.  “I have no desire to harm you or your family.  Though, I must say that wife of yours…” Zod shakes his head as he inhales sharply.  “Oh, the things I could do to her, the pleasure I could force upon her…”

Clark loses it.  With a ferocious scream he advances on Zod before he could react.  He grabs hold of Zod and Zod only laughs as Clark begins punching him repeatedly.  “YOU…STAY…AWAY…FROM…MY…WIFE!” he screams, punctuating each syllable with a punch.  Clark’s punches are blind, landing in every possible part of Zod’s face.  All that is on his mind is the idea—or rather the horror—of Zod, or any man forcing himself on his Chloe.

Eventually, Clark is blasted backward by Zod’s heat vision.  It’s not as potent or even as hot as Clark’s heat vision, as Clark has had more time to develop it, but it’s pretty powerful.  Clark leaves a trail of dead, fiery crops as he continues to fly backward, before finally landing on a tree.  It doesn’t hurt, but it knocks the wind out of him.  How many times has Clark’s physiology saved him from so much as having a contusion in his life?

When Clark regains his senses, he sees Zod flying towards him.  With a growl, Clark repays the favor, blasting Zod as hard as he can with his heat vision.  Zod powers through it and it turns into a very nasty and undignified exchange of punches, kicks…bites, and blasts of heat vision. 

“Well, Kal-El,” Zod marvels, “you seem to have learned to fight someone your own size since we the last time we met.”

“Shut up, Zod!” screams Clark.  Usually, his fights with similar opponents are a lot more dignified and restrained.  Not this time.  All Clark wants to do is hurt Zod.  Any thought of harm coming to Clark’s family…Clark thinks that it’s like being on red kryptonite.  He loses all inhibitions that he keeps up as Superman.  People can become quite dangerous when they feel that their family could be threatened and Clark Kent is no exception.  He worries that he might actually rip someone in half if it meant protecting his family. 

“Alright, Kal-El, this…is…getting…ridiculous!” Zod manages between blows.  “Time for a little song.”

On cue, Clark hears that same singing he’s been hearing on and off for the last few weeks.  “Oh, no not again,” he mutters tearfully.  Against his will, he pulls off of Zod and trudges determinedly to the source of the singing.  Though his mind is on fire with contempt, he grabs the woman by the flank and slams his lips onto hers. 

She tears off his clothes and Clark hears Zod laugh as he finds himself slipping inside the woman. 

“Oh, Kal-El,” he hears Zod croon.  “I’m a man of my word.  I promise you, I will not harm your family.  I will not lay a hand on your wife.  But you will wish you were dead before I am finished with you.  Carry on.”  Zod speeds away.

Though he commands himself to pull away, Clark slams into his siren.  Yes, that’s an appropriate word for her—his own personal siren singing him a siren song.  Tears roll down his face as he tries to put every bit of contempt into his gaze towards the woman he’s being forced to make love to—no _have sex with_.  He makes love to Chloe Sullivan-Kent and no one else. 

He only hopes that eventually, he’s able to pull out of this forced haze of euphoria.  Perhaps someone he loves will catch him in the act and spare him from this hell. 

Someday.   


End file.
